E causa ignota
by BeardedTit
Summary: Christine's life comes to a halt when her mysterious employer makes an offer she cannot, though would love to, refuse. I DON'T OWN PHANTOM.
1. Chapter 1

**E causa ignota **

Christine's heart was about to speed out of control. And she felt hot and dehydrated - she was sweating uncontrollably under her clothes. There, in the hallway, she - always a stranger to reason - had stood in front of a black door for fifteen minutes doing nothing but staring ahead and wishing for a different kind of life. It was an achievement for her. Usually it was dark outside when she made it to this point - to the standing and the wishing. But like always, she felt confused... and therefore stupid. Because it was in these moments that she became aware of how abnormal she was. A normal person would have gone through the door and done one's business a significant while ago, where as Christine spent silent minutes until even an inch forward could be considered.

The corners of her mouth curved upwards as a sudden positive thought popped into her mind - _the person behind the door wasn't really that ordinary either_! No one confronted him fearlessly! Indeed, he was so peculiar that people tended to go out their way to avoid having to approach him. One would presume. She had never seen him talking to anyone else besides her. She rubbed her palms in approval, smiling happily, gaining long-awaited reassurance and courage from the thought. Although, perhaps, the right word to describe her was more 'inadequate' than ' not that ordinary'. Inadequate to act like a human being... She sighed. Well... There was only one thing to do. The thing that normal people supposedly would do. She scratched her arms making sure that it hurt and drank the third of a water bottle which she was carrying scowling at the door... _Get a grip woman, remember why you are here!_

To get rich.

So.

Open.

The.

Door.

Before your bladder bursts from all this water you've been drinking here in your nervousness.

Finally, her hand twitched, rose...pushed. And there he was - standing right in front of her.

"Ugh!" The cool demeanor she had gained in the comforting silence of the hallway vanished and went back hiding in to its usual cell. All the phrases and dialogues she had planned were lost too. She was left alone with the rickety grounds of the kind of human behavior she knew best - the basic instincts. From this moment onwards it would be a matter of survival only. And in a state of survival one never thought like a rational, normal human being. On top of all that, her hand shook a little. She frowned. It took only a sight of him and she was at a loss for the concepts of normal and ordinary. He, on the other hand,didn't seem baffled at all, even though she had just swung the door open with much more force than necessary. Had she been worth kidnapping, she would have taken this as an attempt to stalk. After all, he must have stood there behind that door for a while, listening.

"I...I'll be off then! And...see you in two weeks," she announced and glanced in the direction of her clothes to make sure they still existed before hopping to them like a wolf after prey. Prey, her clothes, her path to freedom. To her credit she really did her best to appear calm and casual about it until she bumped into a coffee table, that is. Her face turned into a cringe of fear, but when she peered down, she was relieved to remember his office for what it was - something out of a black and white IKEA ad. The ultra-modern coffee table was made of nothing but glass. And was thus unhurt despite her clumsiness.

Mr. Destler insisted that she keep her personal stuff in his office - apparently the staff of the house was not to be trusted and might steal her belongings. Christine found this opinion most strange, she never even saw anyone around the house and, frankly, nobody would want her coats or hats - they practically reeked poorness to the heavens. But in her money-lust she hadn't questioned the quirk Destler insisted on. For her paycheck was quite spectactular. Oh yes indeed, she had spent quite a time that fall in restaurants eating food she had never even dreamt of - Japanese, Vietnamese, Finnish...and yet had something to digest in her own fridge too! If she had had any friends, she would have boasted about her salary every time they met until they'd do the only reasonable thing and leave her in her solitude.

Although there was this one minus in her job that she could hardly ignore anymore... It hadn't existed from the start. It was just lately that had he developed a habit of bolting from behind dark corners to question about her well-being when she came to work and tiptoed to his office. It wasn't some casual small talk that he practiced - it was always the same downright police interrogation about her lifestyle. He seemed to be playing the role of a cop who had no desire to meddle with the criminal but had no choice and because of that got straight to the point and hammered her with questions she had never even thought about. Sometimes she was on the verge of crying when she stumbled out of his office in the mornings after not being able to answe correctly what a regular sleeping rhythm was. Sleeping, for God's sake! It was just sleeping, to her at least, but he had evidently even thought so far as her bed clothes and their materials. A few times she had jus tried just running into his office and throwing her clothes onto the sofa from the door, but he had shown no signs of letting go of his... routine and always stopped her at the stairs next to his room at the latest.

She wondered if Destler had noticed her attempts to avoid him, but, obviously, even if he had, he wasn't backing off. Was he afraid of paying for some sort of expensive disease that his employee might catch? Christine suspected, no, she was 99 percent sure that that was the real reason behind the stranded hallways too - he must warned the other employees of the danger she presented. Yes, she might have looked a little pale in the past, but that was before, when she had had no money for proper nutrition. _Beware of the ill hag wandering around!_ Or whatever it was that Destler kept telling his staff. Obviously something vile, though. Why else would they avoid her, a harmless-looking midget.

"Two weeks?"

Christine startled from her thoughts.  
"Yes. It is Christmas after all," she said and straightened her posture. "And it is in our contract, remember?" _But don't check, cause I'm not sure._

Mr. Destler shrugged his shoulders, "Oh". But his gaze didn't express idleness. Christine was satisfied that she could resign sometime soon after New Year. There was nothing wrong with an introverted mind, but Mr. Destler intimidated her. Not physically, not verbally - it was the eyes. She despised common beliefs (since based on them she herself should be poked with a thousand torches), but she had taken a liking to the saying "eyes are the door to one's soul". It would spin in her mind like a stone would in a washing machine every time Mr. Destler looked at her. And that was often. Oh, she wouldn't have given a shit about that disparaging attitude if it hadn't been for that gaze of his! It was constant. It seemed to track her like a limelight accentuated an actor. A bloody Hannibal Lecter he was, Mr. Destler.

Christine took a deep breath. He looked very strange at the moment. Like a statue. It was as he had forgotten the earth and swam to the stars. Or to his blood-filled pool. How can you work for someone with whom you cannot speak, breath or move normally? It wasn't work she had done during the last five months, it was a series of miracles one after another!

"Right. I'll just take my jacket, um..." She spoke unclearly, muttering. It was a habit she was unaware of and came out with whenever her mental balance bumped into rocks. With Destler there was no footing at all. She could barely hear his voice over blood-induced roar in her ears.

"What are you going to do?"

"Mmmmm... mhhm. You know."

"During your holidays. Do you have any plans?"

He had moved next to her, for which Christine was actually grateful. She wasn't sure if she had heard him right.

"Oh yes!" Her fake cheeriness was the sickest kind when she looked at him in the eyes for a very brief moment. "I'm going to New York to see my old friend. Couldn't say no when he advertised his house as the biggest place on the island. If not in the whole country," she added with a low voice and flashed a wide smile to the floor.

"What is his name?"

What? Why on earth should he know? She eyed his shoes, suspecting something malicious waiting around the corner of his thoughts. Ugh, the pressure! She couldn't take it anymore, she wanted to leave! She was wasting time! Why had he decided to bother her in afternoons too?

Feeling her nerves snap, she then gobbled like a nutless squirrel: "Raoul de Chagny". If nutless squirrels could talk, that is. Her face actually rose to meet Destler's.

"I wonder...," Mr. Destler said quietly. If Christine could have seen the future, she would have excused herself out of the door, but her curious mind stopped her.

"What do you mean?" she asked and stepped closer to him like a scientist before a new species. Something unfamiliar to her blinked in his eyes and made her forget about her wariness around him. His gaze took its time to drift along walls until it focused on her.

"I don't believe his house is that big," he said seriously, like a teacher telling his pupil that there would be no transition to the next grade this fall. Silence.

Then...Christine closed her eyes and exposed her little teeth to the ceiling in a very "a whale bursting through surface" kind of motion and even grasped her stomach, her fingers settling to rest along her abdomen when the first wave of laughter erupted. The sound was deep and unhibited even though she knew in the back of her mind it would be short-lived and in no time she would, yet again, feel uneasy and stupid and eager to leave this murky house. But it was as if she wasn't alone in her head, she would have never laughed at Destler if it had been just the two of them.

But the idea of schizophrenia wasn't to her liking. Exhaustion, better - it had been a long day after all. She noticed through her hardly open eyelids that Destler actually looked surprised. But his voice didn't emit confusion when he asked a question after a few minutes of one-sided joy. Christine wasn't given the time to feel embarrassed.

"Do you always run after money?"

_WHAT THE HELL?_ The joys of his weirdness faded, and a powerful wave of irritation took over. Christine had never dealt well with rapid mood changes like this, but he tended to have that impact on her. The question he had put out of his shameless mouth froze the air, if not time for her. Christine glared. _Who does he think he is?_ Had he ever paused to think how off-putting his questions were? Had he been some sort of a bully since birth?

"No. I do not," she lied and wrapped her fingers around her coat as if it was a washing sponge. How he had gained his wealth, she did not know, but he wouldn't have to seek help in a homeless shelter if one of his cars disappeared. Christine... her daily routine involved a penny-counting session. There had not been a single birthday in her life that had been spent among relatives. Foster-care had provided her birthday cakes. Of course she knew that a poor start in life didn't prevent her way to luxury,

but expensive education seemed to be out of her reach. And, like always, there was another side to this: she had no desire to become a doctor or something else as... esteemed, her heart belonged to the arts. But she had pride, oh yes she did. She wasn't about to milk Raoul like Destler was hinting, even though, she admitted, the thought had been appealing at times when she had had her stick-impaled onion weeks during which she pretended to be in an ever-lasting cocktail party tasting the appetizers. She had learned that even the emptiest stomach could be repressed with pop music and the promises of a better tomorrow. And here she was, still alive. So she should be able to overcome this man too.

"And," she continued, "I know that he was joking. How could he have a house bigger than... well, your house, for example. He works for a company, he doesn't own one."

"Ah, so you've noticed," he said in an oddly cheery way. If Christine had had more understanding of people, she would have classified the tone as sarcastic. But there was no time for a study of human behavior as her boss suddenly made a move towards the door. That really got Christine's attention. It was as if... _He was trying to block her way out! _Christine was so furious her brows tripled in volume. _Well, it shouldn't take a Harvard scientist to understand that one usually wants to leave when getting insulted!_

"Yes. I'm not completely stupid," she replied warily, expecting him to make some rude remark of her appearance. Hopefully Destler concentrated his nastiness to people's natures rather than to the clothes they wore. Christine focused on her posture again, thinking of how a potato sack could look like million dollars if presented right.

"Then why would you want to spend your holiday with him, when you have a big house right here?"

Well, that was a not-so-bright question. This time air didn't freeze - now it felt like a warm blizzard had burst through the door and taken care that Christine saw nothing. Understood nothing. Or maybe she misunderstood.

"Well... You know... Or are you implying.. that... you are... uh. Huh?" They were in a stupid discussion, for sure. _Maybe he was seeking for a reason to fire her! _But if he was, she wouldn't let him. Not just yet.

"Do you want to leave?" he asked quietly. Did he mean permanently or was he referring to this day? Christine bowed her head and shot subtle side-glances around her making sure that this was reality, not just some reality TV show mocking her failure to see through it. But would she be able to spot the cameras if she actually lived in her own Truman Show?

"Yes."

"Are you in a hurry?" Perhaps he indeed meant this day. Yes.

"Yes. Yes. For starters - I need to pack. Haven't done that because...of some stuff."

"So you would mind spending your... Christmas with... uh, in this house?" Christine almost slapped her cheek.

"YES!" came the definite answer. She hurried to soften her response, "It is just that... I... just..." She needed time to form an adequate answer. She needed to come upon words that would mend her rudeness and simultaneously appear reasonable. She needed words that would keep her alive until she was out of the building! But she knew there was only one answer to give. Unfortunately it wouldn't make her lady-like, but it was a depressing fact that her storage of excuses and lies was rapidly diminishing - all she had left was that she had a dentist appointment, which wouldn't do, since who the hell saw a dentist at Christmas? Was he testing her in some way? She desperately wanted to hit him with something for being so strange!

"I don't know you. That's why." Maybe, just maybe, the truth would solve something this time. Or why else was it that people kept talking about truth in such adoring words...

Unpredictably, silence ensued after her stiff reply. Alarmed, Christine started to sway in her resolution. Now what? Should she speak more? Did he still wait for something? Could she leave, finally? Or maybe..Maybe he just died on his legs and was too stiff to fall on the floor. Shit, how awkward, on so many levels. What do you say when you call 911?

Then, an intake of breath by him followed by an immediate relaxation by her.

He said: "Well, that's too bad."

He spoke in a such tone that Christine lifted her gaze to have some clarity in the situation and find out where exactly she stood with him now. She clutched her backpack closer to her chest - he looked downright feral! _Oh my sweet Jesus, he truly was a cannibal of some sorts! _ Mr. Destler sure was a man who had the ability to make her recoil in shock.

It was, however, she, who managed the next surprising turn of events. She presented a small black object in her hand, levelling it hurriedly with his eyes... and without hesitation pressed the button on top of it. Then she lifted her leg and swung it with force towards his privates and ran like the devil, as if foster-care and every failure of her life themselves were after her until she faced the door of her apartment and stopped to clutch her throat, catching her breath. Then she stormed inside, throwing everything off of her. Her next move was to grasp a liquor bottle and thank the fate for yesterday's payday. And then, finally, around two a.m., she collapsed to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Gwen Stefani's songs either.

CHAPTER 2

The noise shot Christine's dream down like a bullet might pierce a duck's heart. The noise was insistent, highly annoying and it kept repeating:

_"If I was a rich girl, _

_na na na na na na na na na na na na na, _

_see I'd have all the money in the world _

_If I was a wealthy girl..." _

It was her ringtone, the voice. Gwen Stefani to be exact. Christine groaned. What time do you call this to call? It was a Saturday morning, and surely it couldn't be past seven 7 a.m. But the song kept going, like a greedy infant sucking his mothers' breast, this time Christine's nerves.

"Fine!"

Gwen sang for a minute - the search of a phone always took a while when one preferred keeping her eyes closed.

"Who is this?" Christine finally answered, sounding nothing but cranky when realised that the rock on her shoulders was actually her own head and the pain in her neck her phone. Had someone hit her in the head? And when?

"It's Raoul."

Christine jumped to stand.

"Raoul!" She flinched when her voice echoed violently in the space of her apartment, just emphasizing her desperate tone – loud and over-eager. Well, she didn't have much furniture, voices were bound to echo.

" It's so good to see you! I mean," she laughed hurriedly, "hear from you."

Christine started to pace around, slowly, like a ballet dancer would stretch her body. Not aware of her stupid smile until passed a kitchen mirror and started to make monkey-faces in her child-like excitement, feeling both happy and nervous about talking with Raoul again. It had been a month since the last time they had chatted on the phone. She often wished that she lived in New York. Or anywhere where Raoul decided to go to. That way they could talk more often. He seemed to be always busy, not available, but Christine hadn't complained about this out loud. Every time she had just nodded verbally and agreed that her work too was getting on her nerves when the topic surfaced.

She lied, what else. For awkwardness's sake, he was a journalist. And what was she? An uneducated antique expert, spending her days in a norman baker's attic listing his vast wealth down, valuating the worth of his valuable belongings. It was nothing compared to Raoul's racing around the country, reporting about... everything. Seeing the world. Feeling it. Experiencing it. How... unfair.

She didn't feel as grateful as she should've had. Working for Destler was a huge improvement from her previous job, the cold storage of Cheesy Mouth, a fast food restaurant near her home. After three days there she had been ushered away from the cashier, labeled with adjectives not too pleasant. All of them untrue. She didn't think she was, for example, impolite - perhaps just impatient. For instance when one man had come for his third Cheesy Cheek burger within an hour, Christine had wondered out loud why he hadn't just ordered three in the beginning. That she would have not taken as an obsessed person's need for unhealthy food, but for an order for co-workers. But one by one...

It was a strange but lucky coincidence that she had spent a year with a woman who had needed someone to sort her library, giving Christine an ability that Destler had been in need of eight years later. The woman, Mrs. Arland, and Christine had come along greatly, but when it was found out that their relationship was business-like and Christine wasn't exactly being raised like a normal 12-year-old child, she had been taken away from the only person who had ever wanted her. Not for affectionate reasons perhaps, but nevertheless the woman had wanted to have Christine. Her time with Arland had even worked for her favour, for when she had noticed Destler's ad five months ago, the "Cheesy" chapter in Christine's life had finished for good. And before Destler had had any time to ask for a resume, she had bombarded him with the knowledge that her expert eye had given her about his lounge. The hours in that history-filled library had been most profitable, indeed. Of course, the fact that Arland was a historian had had its part too in Christine's skill.

"Christine?"

"Yes, yes! I'm here."

"Oh. You sounded like a man."

There was a long pause, in during which Christine's smile disappeared and a grim line took place. _And someone sounded like a prick._

"Well, I need my eight-hour rest."

"Does that mean you're still in bed?"

"No. Technically. Is something wrong? I mean, it's nice that you call..." Christine said silently and checked her nails. A doctor could the same to her head. The hammering in her skull was... indescribable. But despite the pain she suddenly felt happy. It always worked like this - just to hear him talk, to hear Raoul's warm voice... It was like some human medicine, always easing the discomfort in her life. His voice was a candle flame, slowly melting the cold feeling of melancholy she had come well accustomed to for too long.

"And I bet that that means you're not going to make it."

Christine didn't understand. "To where?"

"Airport. To me."

What the hell is going on? This day was going to be a puzzle. Even though she liked them, living in one was obviously resentful. She growled when her front door was banged when she was about to ask further information about plans she didn't remember. Someone was listening to music, but even an idiot could hear that the annoying techno didn't come from Christine's apartment.

"I'M NOT LISTENING TO ANYTHING!" she screamed. Then she noticed the black liquor bottle on the floor, next to her sofa.

_Not that liquor!_ Not that one, not the only thing she had been left with at the children's home.

"Oh no..." She went to her knees and grasped the bottle angrily. "I am failing... I am failing like no tomorrow..."

"Christine, what have you done?"

"The liquor... It's gone!"

"So you've been drinking."

"You don't understand. Every last drop is gone."

"A drunk and a man. Boy you've changed."

"Look -"

Someone abused her door again. She stretched her neck toward the ceiling in anger. "I TOLD YOU THE NOISE IS NOT COMING FROM HERE! DO YOU WANT ME TO WRITE THAT DOWN AND STAPLE THE FACT TO YOUR HEAD? FUCKTARDS!"

"It's the police."

Oh noes, it was if she lived in a Kafka novel. Christine remembered vaguely something about a person K who woke up and got arrested out of the blue... The rest, she didn't know. The book had fallen on the floor after the first chapter.

Christine's first instinct was to jump to her only window and squeeze herself through it. And she did. But the window was too small. Or she was too big. She huffed and puffed, but her hips argued with her, straining painfully against the window panes, bruises just a second away from appearing. Damn it all, foremost these hellish joys of cheap rat holes! On top of her hell the sun was shining brightly. Its rays plunged right in to Christine's eyes - making her blind for the rest of her life, for sure.

"You are bloody useless! I can't have babies in jail!" She was on the brink of losing it and did indeed laugh quite manically at how raspy and ugly her voice sounded. She really shouldn't drink again. Suddenly she felt sad and murmured: "Why can't you shrink a little?" In vain, of course, for her body didn't see her point of the unlikely reproduction behind bars reasonable. So she backed out from the window and stared at her front door like it was about to come and eat her.

Police was not good. It was never good. Especially if they were after someone like her... Christine's eyebrows landed on her cheeks like the sky had fallen on her neck. She saw nothing but black cells and hairy women ahead in her horizon - she would spend an eternity in prison. She had most likely killed the... what's-her-name next door who pounded on Christine on purpose with her fats every time they literally collided in the corridor. Well, to Christine's defense, the woman had been a real pain in the ass.

_This is why one shouldn't drink! You are a stupid woman, Christine. A child. Well, human at least._

"Why me...," she sighed and put her phone on her forehead like some death-relief weapon.

_"This is starting to sound like Blair Witch Project, Christine. You really ought to..."_

Maybe it was the door that spoke? She approached it hastily.

"Hello, door," she whispered. The voice spoke again.

_"Stay away from alcohol. You hear me? Now, you can still..." _

Oh. The phone. In her hand. _Couldn't it see that she was busy?_

"Miss Daly? We are here for the yesterday's assault."

Oh. Right. The police. Behind the door. She went right in front of it, but didn't open.

"I've been here all morning. In fact I've been here since yesterday evening. So I'm not the one you're looking for. Cheerio!" Now that that matter should have be taken care of... Christine put her hands on her hips and span around to face her apartment... it was high time to redecorate.

Mustard and beige - these were the dominant colours of Christine's little apartment. Well, she pretended the sofa was more yellowish than mustardy... And the green lamp next to it was a real find - a real gem among her depressing prairie. She had dragged it from an alley nearby, at night of course, because she didn't want her neighbours to see where she got her furniture from.

It had been a rather unnecessary act. For example, the neighbour next door didn't have a front door. He had told Christine that someone had stolen his surfboard, and he had been in a dire need of new one - hence the doorless doorway. He was a harmless little fellow and she sort of liked him, even though his snoring was easier to notice when there was only one door blocking the noise.

Christine fell on to her knees, then on to her stomach. Her cave looked the same from the worm point of view - not too livable, but definitely dusty. She took her brown blanket, wrapped herself around it and rolled along the floor, her hair tangling in dust and crumps of something she wasn't interested to identify. She remembered how happy she had been two years ago when she had stepped inside this place - now she felt mostly bored and eager to leave. She was stuck. Had been for a long time. Her desperation to get away from here was worse than the words Romeo could ever pour out of his love-sick heart. At least he had experienced something dramatic. Christine's life was dull as the wrap of a chocolate bar under her sofa...

Oh, she noticed. The wrap wasn't empty. She licked her fingertips and pressed them on the wrap, catching the last chocolate chunks. She hated how heavenly it tasted, knowing that she couldn't get more.

Hm...Did she just forget something? _If I were a rich girl..._ RAOUL!

Just then her front door flew open... down.

Christine saw only black when she lifted hear head like a snake ready to bite, ready to lash at those who disturbed her peace and depression for oh so many reasons.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said in a low voice, partly because she was angry, partly because lying on the floor made her throat feel thick.

Two serious looking men stepped into her condo, their focus solely on her. They looked like trained dogs to her.

"Miss Daly, we need you to come with us. This is a police matter you're dealing with."

Christine gaped at her front door which now lay on her apartment's floor like a wooden carpet. A huge mistaken had been made! The caliber the police were acting with, they must believe she was a terrorist!

"Are you here to eliminate me?" she couldn't help asking, never been so scared in her life. "I am innocent, you know." She tried to squeel like an infant. Hoping that her awkward position before the men made her look very docile and harmless.

"Just come with us and everything will be solved. Ok, miss Daly?"'

"Sure," she replied, not moving.

"Maybe we should just put a bag over her head..."

And she let them.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The car ride was surprisingly short. Before Christine had a chance to demand her one phone call, she was carried by her armpits out of the vehicle. She felt more like a child than a criminal, and was awfully happy that she heard no cameras witnessing this embarrassing gliding to a police station. Then again, she was a commoner.

She was soon pushed into a room and the bag from her head was removed. She was instantly overwhelmed with piercing light.

"Aargh! My eyes, my eyes! What a demon light... Please, turn it down!" Christine squinted while trying to walk a bit, but tripped on something and fell on top of it. She moaned. The light seemed to be light years ahead of her. She laughed. Ho ho ho, she knew the way with words. But ´why was nothing happening? Then she remembered that she had those beautiful hands, her gorgeous hands, and covered her eyes with them. When the evil light was blocked out, she recovered her senses. Even a sense she didn't know existed, but she swore - there were people watching her back. After feeling around with her hands Christine realised she was lying on top of a footstool.

"Were my instructions unclear? I wanted her unharmed."

Christine's head snapped up in surprise. Where did that voice come from? It was a dangerous one, for if it told her to buy ice cream, she wouldn't waste time to complete the task. Christine wondered if the voice knew what powers it held. Hoped that didn't.

"That's how we found her, sir."

"Then what's wrong with her?"

"I believe it has something to do with this."

Christine didn't like how the topic of the conversation was her and yet she wasn't regarded in any way. And it wasn't the bloody first time in her life! But perhaps... Yes, it was a dim thought, but perhaps the song that had started this day and its strangeness, would help to clear it too... She hesitated, but then trapped her head between her palms and started to sing quietly, closing her mind from the disturbing background noises:

_Think what_

_That money could bring_

_I'd buy everything_

_Clean out Vivienne_

_Westwood_

_In my Galliano Gown_

_No, wouldn't have just one_

_hood_

_A Hollywood mansion if_

_I could_

_Please book me first-class_

_to my fancy London town_

Christine opened her eyes after the second verse. The light was gone. It was the only thing to be grateful in the grave situation she had been whisked in to, she gathered, while looking at the room she was in.

The problem was_... the most humongous problem ever in her life_ was that her boss stood there clad in black like the inexperienced colour user he was, in the same room as her, having his unfriendly eyes looking at her... After the day she had sort of assaulted him.

Had Mr. Destler just heard her singing? Possibly. Most likely. She didn't listen to his words when he spoke to someone, her mind was too busy to wonder how a voice so charming could belong to a persona so... not charming. He hadn't sounded like that before. She had compared him to the Batman in the Christopher Nolan's version, for his voice was usually very raspy... and now... now this. Liquid-like smoothness. For some reason an image of melted liquor sliding on skin came to Christine's mind and she felt a shudder that wasn't too unpleasant.

She vaguely realized that a door opened and people left, and that suddenly they were alone, just her and Mr. Destler.

Time to get hold of things... Christine didn't waste time to rise with so much grace as possible in the situation and started to smooth her shirt's wrinkles coolly. Seconds passed.

"Mr. Destler," she then finally nodded as if only now realizing him standing nearby.

He instantly replied: "Christine. Please sit." His voice rather stiff.

"I'd rather not. You see, I have a plane to catch." She drifted, thinking how massively cool it felt say something like that! As if she flew from place to place every now and then. In actuality, it was her first time. Ever.

Mr. Destler made a strange sound. Christine stared at him. He laughed? She was surprised for a reason - one wouldn't expect a hyena to meow like a kitten.

"Really, you should call me Erik. Please."

The word "please" was even more disturbing than his laugh.

"Fine, Erik it is. Now would you please tell me what I'm doing here, Erik? And why is my bottle with you. Erik."

They both gazed at the bottle Christine had drunk as if it was some sort of a holy relic.

"It seems you have forgotten a lot during your... outage."

"What is it to you? I'm sure I haven't agreed to be kidnapped. My private life is private, so are my hang-overs. Just answer my question so I can leave."

"You left me quite abruptly yesterday, my dear. You are here for a reason today."

"You can only blame yourself. Did I ask you to stalk me like... Hey what the hell?" Christine strode to him and banged her palms onto his table in a motion that was nothing but furious. "Don't dear me. Ever. I am not your child."

The surprised look before her almost got Christine off guard, but there was no time to wonder how the mysterious mister Destler could expose more feelings than the one she was accustomed to – the usual evil amusement. It was time to leave, so she hurried to a one of the three doors of the room and violated the handle. Then she turned, eyes closed and smiled.

"Where's the key?"

"You're not leaving."

Christine plunged her hand in to her purse in a ferocious manner, but Destler's voice stopped her. "Please don't think me so simple that I'd still let you carry that little weapon of yours."

Christine snorted and smiled. "It may be small, but admit, it is handy."

Christine's devious smile just widened when she thought about her last night's escapade, then she noticed that he was smiling too. Whatever for? Her smile lessened a bit. And what he did he want from her? And why was she smiling? She hadn't just found a glock from her purse. And shouldn't his eyes be pink, at least? She thought that the pepper spray would have irritated longer than 12 hours. Maybe he had some sort of eye disease that protected him. That wouldn't surprise her. She could have sworn that sometimes those blue eyes turned to yellow and even glowed in the dark - it had happened too many times to pass as a figment of wild imagination, but even still... Christine did not want to think about it.

What were her options now? She didn't know in what shape Destler was. But he was a man and she was a woman and her last exercise was a jog two months ago. Shit. Mrs. Chokawitz, her gym teacher in high school, would have killed her if she knew what kind of slop she had become.

"Sit."

Really, she had no idea what kind of man her boss was or what was his profession. Obviously he was rich and held power over those cretins that claimed to be from the police. And she was a perfect catch to kill. Why is it that parentless life seems to always lead orphans straight in to the cannibal's den? Was her destiny to be the like of Oliver Twist's? Though she couldn't know for sure, she hadn't finished that book either.

"Sit."

Christine sighed. Even if she had the spray, he'd know her moves (actually one move, "pressing the bottle"). Sure she could bite but he could _hit_. Now that was a matter she didn't want to get acquainted with. She almost threw up when she recalled a woman in her house, always carrying new bruises after Saturday night when her horrible husband finally found his way back home. Christine had promised to herself that if she ever worked in a bar, she wouldn't hesitate to take action in the name of poison if she spotted vile and evil drunk people.

"Christine Daly, I told you to sit!"

Like two popsicles, her legs dragged their way to a brown chair in front of his desk and like a humongous ice cube, her derriere smacked on the chair. She didn't really want to look into his eyes, so she kept her gaze steady on the carpet. Silence fell upon them. Irritated, Christine started to count the seconds. What the hell was he waiting for? Did meat taste better when scared to shitless? She laughed morbidly when paused to think. _Silly you, of course it would! _

For a micro second she finally let her eyes rose and when their eyes met, he stated simply:

"I need you."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"_I need you." _

Such rare words to hear. Destler's eyes were the same, intense, as usually, but it was hard to tell was it affection or... _- wait, Christine. Why don't you just spread your legs and ask him to have babies with you? Cause that's what you're sounding like._

"What do you want?" Christine asked hastily. He smiled. Again, highly unnatural.

"I want...," he started and opened his desk's first drawer. Christine stretched over to see. He noticed this and turned his head to keep the eye contact with her while his hand fetched something shiny... and pointy. He drew out a small knife.

"You're going to eat me!"

The words were out before Christine realized that her mouth was open. _Shit shit shit. Why don't you just carve you__r heart out on your own and__ serve it to him on a silver plate?_ Her mind flew in to a furious frenzy, but to the man in front of her she looked like an ice sculpture.

Destler didn't speak for the longest time. He just stared, the thing that he seemed to be most gifted at. Maybe he was a bit Autistic? Now that's just extra fabulous. Though it didn't really matter, serial killers weren't usually the most talkative people at a party anyway.

_But why are you still sitting, Christine?_ You should be moving, for it was obvious that he was off guard at the moment. She should be her own life's Xena, for God's sake. A warrior. Ha ha haa. Thought that his little plan was flawless, did he. Thought that Christine was some sort of a mouse. Now, who was the stupid one? Christine smirked. She had again forgotten that she didn't even have a plan, save for the one to trash around like a druggie without a daily dose.

When he spoke at last, his voice was ice-like. The room's temperature seemed to be well below zero. Christine hoped for mittens.

"Excuse me?" he inquired.

Christine was just about to inform him about her awfully low fat percentage, but then he rose from his chair like a real predator would – slowly and with focused eyes. The movement triggered Christine to jump up and run around the room in a final desperate attempt to find a door that would open. But every one of them was locked. Christine pounded on one with her full weight, but the door stood its ground. It went on like this for couple of eternities before Destler moved from his desk and inched towards her slowly like the scared rhino she was.

"You are impossible to talk to when you're in that state. You are... too agitated. Now, if you -"

"YOU JUST KEEP YOUR BLOODY FINGERS OFF ME! DON'T TOUCH ME! I KNOW EXCATLY WHAT YOU'RE DOING! MY LIVER IS MY OWN!" Christine screamed. She breathed heavily, feeling her energy gone. Destler had stilled on his movements, looking her through narrowed eyes.

Why was she wet? _Am I crying?_ Christine felt her cheeks. _Oh, yes, you're crying._ Her life was over. For crying never helped, social workers had told her that time after time.

"Please, don't you have a heart?" she wailed. Life wasn't fair. It seemed to be only thing that she had learned. How sad to leave the world with nothing but bones to left behind.

"Christine..."

Christine lifted her head. She was surprised to see Destler just gazing at her, without any fork or knife at his side poised to plunge. Maybe he preferred his own teeth to kill? Christine sobbed a little bit more. Why was she to die with puffy eyes and a running nose? Life sure didn't have any style when it came to dying. But, maybe he'll get some sort of a virus because of her goo. Tee he hee.

"A heart. If you only knew -"

Christine looked past him. _Oh yes. Oh yeah baby. This chick would live._

"Well, I don't really care. But you're not getting mine!"

At that, he who had already thought she had calmed down, started forwards, but she was faster. Christine ran past him in a crazed mania towards the windows. It was her last chance - to jump out and hope for a vegetarian gardener. _XENA, ay ay ay!_ she hollered in her mind. _I can make it!_ Christine threw the curtains aside. And then she shrieked and covered her eyes. The bloody light. Not good. Must break the window! She turned in haste, but Destler stood there like a demon from hell, with a needle - NEEDLE!

"Mamma mia!" she screamed and hit his nose before scurrying behind a chair.

"How dare you think 'I'm too agitated', when you're holding a bloody needle! What the hell do you need that for?" she argued, thinking it was probably the last time she spoke on earth.

"You scream."

Christine was stupid and laughed bitterly at his reply, eyes closed. The needle pierced her skin.

"No!" she gasped. She looked at him in disbelief, ran forward and slumped, on to the same footstool she had risen from mere 10 minutes ago.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine woke to a fact that her leg was roughly shaked. She opened her eyes, getting the whole picture - Destler stood beside a bed that she was lying on. He had a cup with him. _Acid?_ Her floodgate of rage unhinged immediately. It was an unsettling sight; first such a small person lay like some lifeless doll, and in next moment was raging about like an angry dog.

"WHAT THE HELL -"

"Don't strain your voice. There's no reason to yell." He placed the cup on the nightstand next to the bed. Christine obeyed only for a second.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO -"

"Is that so? It was you who attacked me. I merely helped you to go to bed yesterday."

"THAT'S SO - ," she growled, but he interrupted again.

"Remember the assault, my d - my dinner waits. I'll wait you downstairs. And drink your ice tea. It'll help the dryness the drug caused."

Side-effects? What had he done? Spiced her veins with curry?

When his steps echoed away down the hallway, Christine jumped up to ooze anger. The bastard had dumped her there on the bed covers with her shoes on. She glared the spacious room, as if it had something to do with this situation she was in. And partly had, there was no clock in the room.

Reason caught up with her. _It was HIS fault!_ His bloody fault that her apartment door ly on the floor, that Raoul was forever gone... AND surely he meant that _their _dinner waited! Then again, if we were talking about a real psychopath, he wasn't going to feed her. He was angry, waiting to give his gigantic psychopathic revenge. There, downstairs, a true horror waited... Christine drove herself wild with the thought, not finding anything suitable for killing in the room. She estimated the time it would take to strangle Destler with her bare hands - but for that she ought to grow some muscle.

Christine's panic dissolved for a while when she paused to gasp in delight after opening a door that revealed a small room for clothes - apart from shops she had never seen so many in one place. She stepped in, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. Her eyes widened even more when she realized that the black boots near her wore a tag that told that they both would last and feel good - they were GUCCI!

"Oh God," Christine kneeled, shivers running through her body. Her mind was quickly plotting a plan - she'd take the black shoes, climb out of a window, sell the shoes and fly to New York with proper pocket money!

_STOP!_

She did.

_Wait, just wait you silly girl! Probably everything in this closet is expensive quality! You have to take at least five pair of shoes if not else! _

Christine did as her mind told and snatched up her arms full of shoes. She scampered to a window, hurried by both greed and fear of Destler's shadow, and opened it. Then she threw the shoes before her and climbed on the railing.

She felt stupid - only now did she realise that it was the third floor where her room situated. Fuckety fuck. The mostly black shoes lay on mud like some dead seals. She didn't dare to follow them.

_Where is everyone? Where is Buddha, where is God, where is Allah, where was Ukko Ylijumala, the Finnish pagan god that Mrs. Arland always talked about? Why didn't even Satan offer some kind of a deal? _

_Because Satan is already here, downstairs. Satan who shopped at Gucci. Hmm... Satan was rich._

"Aargh!" Christine raged out loud. "So he shops at Gucci, what does it matter?" She turned from the window and sent her fist angrily against a soft pillow on the bed.

But wait, he shopped at Gucci! Had purchased women's boots! He shopped at Gucci!

It changed _everything_!


	5. Chapter 5

**Greetings!**

**I must thank you for your interest for this story – I never thought someone would continue to read it after the first chap. I hope all of your questions are answered in time when the story slowly unfolds. I have been writing E causa ignota the whole time since me first post – so there is quite a lot to post. And because of the constant bothersome muse, I have to come realize that this will be a looooooooooong story. I intend to finish it, though. Now I am just trying to pick up the worst errors before continuing… so it won't be too cringe-worthy to read.**

Chapter 5

Erik Destler lifted his head warily from his notebook when Christine Daly hit his office, throwing the door open in her typical manner, yet this time her entrance was so hasty, that a clock on a table beside the door went down with a crack when her erratic hand passed it. She was quick to pick the clock up.

"Whoops! Sorry. I hope it wasn't expensive. Even though I can see it's from 19th century... But mass production, really -," she started, but Erik interrupted quickly.

"I'm not going to eat you."

"I know. Sorry. Sometimes... you imagine things." She moved in to the center of the room and looked around awkwardly, the clock still in her hand. "This is a nice room. It must be relaxing to work in here."

"Yes, well..." he muttered, watching her closely. It was silent for a while.

"Wait. I had a reason why I came here instead of leaving immediately after you woke me up. Why I don't feel too proud about myself. Why you must think… for a very good reason, that perhaps I am not too… level-headed. You must understand that I see things quite… You are a man…" She paused. "You...I…," she said helplessly.

Once again, she had forgotten her carefully thought lines! _It was__ because of this stupid clock_! she thought and went back to table and discarded the blasted thing back on it.

"Yes?"

_But of course, a true actor improvises! _

Christine turned on her heels, her face a canvas of sudden agony. Her brows formed an opening bridge. "You poor, poor man," she breathed heavily and came back forward, all the way to his chair. "I know everything. And I understand!" Her voice almost bellowed at the final word. Her volume was unintentional, but Destler sat like a rock, unaffected by her loud voice.

Christine hesitated, then put her hand on his cheek. His skin was cold. She shivered lightly. Christine felt like, she suspected, a mother would feel, when comforting a child. At least she hoped she appeared comforting.

"But I'm not the one you're looking for," she whispered.

_Oh, his eyes are truly exceptional. They looked so very deep blue... almost black. And his lashes are__ like horse's. The lucky mongrel__. _

"How would you know?" his voice sounded raspy. For a moment Christine thought that he had no right to sound or look weary compared to what she had been through during the last 24 hours. But appear as a wise person, you converse with rationalized arguments, not with heated allegations. And she had to remember that he was the, uh, more mentally unstable one. He had, after all, hired people to kidnap her.

"I believe it's horrible. And I believe that you're lonely. But I'm something completely different than you obviously think. You see… You're talking to someone who has never ever had a proper, affectionate human relationship. I'm not a sociopath, but there's no way I can relate to your pain. I've lived my whole life without attachments to normal family life. I'm like a plane without airports. And I don't know if I'll ever have one, if being completely honest. I'm quite happy the way I am. Maybe I'm just lucky that I lost my parents at an early age. I didn't understand death at the time and now memories are too distant that I could grieve. Sort of."

"What is that you think that I'm looking for?" he asked quietly.

"Someone who reminds you of your late wife. I'm sorry."

He looked at her inquiringly. "You speak as if you're completely emotionless, yet you offer me empathy. You think I mourn a lost wife?"

"I'm not a robot. But I don't see life as most people do, I guess. Trust me," she laughed, "you wouldn't want me to hustle around your house. I'm like a kid, really. And children can do the most horrible things." Christine watched the weather outside. It rained. She muttered more to herself: "They don't understand how the world works."

They were both quiet for a while.

"Yesterday you implied that I'd like to eat you, now it seems you think the opposite."

"See? I'm a child. But in an adult's body. I'm not saying I'm from a tribute of cannibals, most of the time I just feel severely handicapped when it comes to... relationships. Um, you know, torches and all."

Destler stared at her with a blank face. Christine's nervousness increased. _You did spray his eyes with pepper spray after all_, she reminded herself. _Careful now._

"Yes. Life is tough, as you know. Look, there's this... um, what it is called, a helping centre for divorced people. They have these little groups that meet weekly, maybe you should go and check one out..?"

Or not. A pissed look came upon his face.

"How... considerate. But I am not divorced or a widow. I've never been married." By the alarmed look on her face Erik knew he needed to speak his mind quick.

"Those clothes were my sister's."

"Oh. Were?"

"She's dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I did have a proposition for you, however. I'd like to tell it now. If you're quite finished, of course?" he arched his brow. Christine said nothing. "Despite your ability to think irrationally, you are actually quite right about my intentions," he continued.

Must be a sensitive topic that sister then, Christine thought. "Oh", she voiced. She moved to the chair in front of his desk automatically. When she sat, his eyes didn't seem so dark anymore. There was almost an excited glint in them.

"I'd like to you to pretend to be my wife for a year," he stated then. His voice was very clear now.

A thousandth silence between them during the last couple of months ensued.

Erik waited for the reply impatiently. Even a fourth 'oh' would have been nice, but she didn't open her mouth. She had the most peculiar look on her face. She was like a mother who had just discovered her child still drawing pictures on the tapestry after it had been denied several times.

She was... She was Christine Daly. He realized how little he actually knew about her, despite the months they had spent together. Despite the countless times he had asked her about her life.

He decided to break the ice first. "I can see that you're not too pleased about my offer."

"Correct. Thank you for the job and for the nice bed you gave me for the night, I've never slept so… calmly in my life, but I need to go. I've made a mess that has to be taken care of. And my plan was never to stay in here L.A. anyway."

"Could you at least explain me why you refuse me before you go? Do you have a validate reason?"

Christine was starting to get irritated by her lack of adjectives for this man. Strange, that he at least was. Now he made it sound like she had just refused to marry a man after ten years of dating. Oh God, here goes...she closed her eyes.

"My desire is to be an actor."

She got an instant reply.

"I'm sure you can act here too." His amused smile didn't go unnoticed. _Prick._

"I know. But I want some formal training first. New York is my kind of city."

He kept a pause before saying anything, scrutinizing her.

"So you move in to New York. Then what? You take three jobs to pay for a tiny rat hole to live in and make sure that some pathetic excuse for a teacher will tell you how to hold a cigarette and speak without sticking it into your colleague's forehead. That's exactly how your life will be. Unless you just robbed a bank."

_Bastard. What would he know about her finances? _Then yet again, she didn't quite dress like a person who afforded many clothes. For a moment Christine blushed furiously even though by now he had seen the true range of her clothes. But it was worse to know definitely that he _had_ put notice on them than to live in a dream that he hadn't, God. Well... He saw only her clothes, not the reason behind her armoire. For instance, maybe she cared about nature and thought shopping unnecessary? One could easily live with three shirts and two pants. Or maybe she had a bottomless stomach, which actually was quite true.

"But if you stay here with me for a year, you'll have the wealth to save your energy for proper acting, with proper teachers."

"Tempting, I admit. But let's not forget the most important - why do you need a false wife?"

"I have my reasons."

Christine was baffled by his answer, even though at this point of their acquaintance his reply was nothing new. Alas, he was a secretive person, yet wanted to know lots about others.

"And I have mine. Goodbye."

"Wait. Are you really so stupid that you're going to say no?"

Yes, it would seem so. If he wanted to play the role a saving grace, he ought to read the script better. Christine shook her mental fist, questioning the fate for her disgrace of a guardian angel. She had never even cared about religious stuff, but to think that everyone had some sort of energy creature following them, helping them in the time of need... One had to admit, it was a comforting thought.

By now it was obvious that nothing like that existed though, at least not in Christine's life.

"It takes one to know one. What makes YOU so stupid to believe I'd say yes?" She spoke quickly, sounding a little out of breath. She didn't give him time to reply, continuing: "Have I ever heard anything more ridiculous! Do not mistake me for some prostitute you pick from a street."

It took an eternity from him to reply. The way his eyes were, downcast, she suspected that his soul had just left his body. Flattering.

"I don't require any... intimacy with me."

"You expect me to believe that? You're going to pay me for such a simple task? Being your wife? And who would believe that I'm your beloved? We're not even the same age."

"Ten years is hardly a major age gap. And for the rest... Don't worry about it."

Suddenly Christine realized that there was not really a reason to refuse him. "Still... why me?"

"You're the..."

Christine was a human just like others, so when a chance that someone among the billions of people around the world had found something exceptional in her occurred, her confidence soared. She could smell the sweet pleasure of a compliment just behind a corner and smiled eagerly. She even leaned forward. It was Destler she was talking to, but still…

"Yes?" her voice was very dreamy.

"A closest suitable female around her. Miss Delighton, my chef, has grandchildren. "

"Sorry?" Christine questioned, even though she had heard him perfectly. Then she got the hold of her normal self, despising the moment of weakness showing her lust after common approval. "My, my, you sure know how to flatter. You know, I DO believe that that kind of act could make it," she smiled sweetly, "If we played a couple married for over thirty years!"

He rose, irritated. Christine straightened her back just as powerfully.

"Why not? I'm offering you a chance that anyone like, like -," he hesitated...

"Like who?" Christine pressured. _Just say it, I know you want to, for now com__es the definite comparing to a __common bum!_

He merely sighed when it was obvious he wanted to explode. "Why, you - "

"YES?"

"You do realise now that I don't intend to eat you? _Why do you refuse me?"_

"Like that matters. Eat me or not, you are just... ugly."

_Oh for the love of Shakespeare, wasn't she gifted when it came to adjectives? _

It took only three seconds to turn and leave the room. Christine never bothered to see what was Destler's reaction to her leave. It was time to go home. Thankfully he didn't run after her. Christine was quite sure they, she and… Erik, were now finished for good. She had seen to it that he couldn't possibly think her as a potential wife material now.

She was so tired. Of everything. The reason she could make her legs move, was the existence of Raoul. But if she'd call him now and find out that Raoul wanted nothing to do with her, she would need Al Pacino himself to assure her of her acting skills and the need the live before she'd commit a suicide and leave a note that declared Destler to be the root of all evil.

By the security camera monitors the man in question saw how Christine ran to the second floor and took the books she had brought there. It seemed that she planned to never come back to his house. Actually, it was quite obvious.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Raoul, Raoul, Raoul... Christine called him seven times on her way home, without avail. Could he truly be mad at her? It was a possibility she didn't like. She thought about the years gone by – the years in high school. The autumn when Raoul De Chagny had stepped onto her French classroom and sat next to her after teacher had told they had a new student. It was a rocky start for a friendship if there ever was one – after the first week Raoul had thought Christine was almost mute, because she barely talked to him, merely sneered when he tried to interact with her besides their tasks in the class.

Christine hadn't been happy at all about her new pair – she had hated French and her heart naturally frozen when Raoul had introduced himself to her in perfect fluency in the language in question. In addition he was at first glance nothing but disgusting perfectness – his natural warm smile, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes charmed almost every teacher and his polite manners astonished them as well. He had made Christine feel very awkward when he had fished her hand from under to table to give it a light peck when he had introduced himself. _What kind of a strange__ teen__ peacock was he?_ she had thought.

He had of course quickly noticed that Christine wasn't very good at French - after their first class together he said "tu es jolie", to which Christine replied "no, my name is Christine, not Jolie". She was later mortified to learn he had meant "you are beautiful". After that incident Christine had been eager to hate him, but unfortunately that turned out to be very difficult - Raoul was different from the other male monkeys in her class, he spoke to her eyes and never laughed at her when she made mistakes. Which was often. With Raoul's help she had passed French.

They hadn't been as close in high school as Christine would have preferred. Christine had tried her best to melt her icy behavior that she had developed against other people, for Raoul was the first person that was genuinely nice towards her. But death came between them. And Christine's self-consciousness about her background. When she finally after three weeks had been able to say yes to Raoul's plea to get her in to movies after school, Raoul had to Christine's horror walked her at to a very expensive car. At that moment she had realized what opposites she and Raoul truly were. Well, it had been down to that one eternal problem – money.

Christine's short-sighted answer had been to avoid Raoul after school at all costs so that he couldn't find out what kind of life Christine led. In school she did the opposite – she wondered if she had even appeared intrusive to him at times when she followed him around like a puppy.

When Raoul's French grandmother had died, Raoul left the country. Christine and Raoul had communicated via telephone ever since.

This Christmas should have been their first meeting after Raoul's rapt departure and it appeared she had screwed it up. Though Christine wondered what had happened to Raoul if he got offended by one confusing phone call? Did he think Christine didn't want to see him?

Raoul had been a very relaxed person in high school – but he had also been very serious too. Christine remembered vividly those three words…. "_Tu es jolie__"__. _

Christine was still strange in many ways, but this time around she would try her everything to show how much Raoul meant to her. Somewhere deep in her mind she knew she should have been embarrassed of her embarrassment over her life history, not about her life history. Why would Raoul care how she lived?

Christine jumped from her thoughts to present day when a street performer around the corner of her building started to sing Elton John's _Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word. _

The song added to her melancholy.

In her hallway Christine came across with her sofa and other things that were usually inside her apartment, not in front of it.

"What is going on?" she whispered out loud and jumped over her belongings. There was a note on her door knob. She didn't give time for unnecessary feelings like anger, confusion and sadness when she grasped it.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST EVICTION NOTICE."

An eviction? What for? She had paid her rent on time, every time. The paper made noise when Christine's hands started to tremble and squeezed it compulsively. What kind of sick joke was this?

"Well well well, what have we here? Has the bird been evicted?" The voice had a deceptively warm tone in it when the words were nothing but pure hate.

Christine sighed before looking at the stairs. A huge fat avalanche was coming up, resisting both the laws of gravitation and Christine's understanding of physics.

"I don't wonder... I saw the police you know. Such a sad world... Someone like you forced to practice the oldest profession to get her rent paid." The stairs wailed when the firm lard finally reached the landing.

"Did you know about this?" Christine asked, not showing any emotion.

The fat puffed. "Oh no, don't be angry with me, sweet bird. I was merely worried about your health, thinking those dirty men taking advantage of you, young, petite, girl... Though, I have to say, it is dangerous to make assumptions based on appearance. I mean, being petite, doesn't mean that you're a good person…"

The eyes of the evil human ball glinted mischievously. Christine looked at her mouth. It was accentuated with long, black facial hair... and made her think of the sex organ of a female.

"I don't like you," Christine hissed suddenly.

Worm like eyebrows rose in surprise. "_What?" _

"I don't like you. And it's not because you are fat, it is the way you move. You pound on me literally. You try to touch me like some molester."

"How d -"

"Perhaps you are not aware of it. But you do. You try to subconsciously steal my body, no matter how 'stick insecty' you tell me I am."

Luckily, or was it luck Christine stayed alive with no home to go to, a shadow formed behind the fat ball and cleared its throat. And then there was the familiar figure of the landlord standing between the blazing females.

"Oh hello Christine... Miss Cole," he nodded. "I thought I heard something."

The fatty, also known as Miss Cole, made a sound and left.

"Mr. Giezel, eviction?" Christine gave him the paper. The man's huge eyes, surrounded by thick and long eyelashes, read the paper like he had never seen it before.

"Oh this," he laughed awkwardly after a while. "Sorry, I had no first or second notes left. Gotta save money where you can. It is actually the first and only notification."

""But why? Is this because Cole said something about me? Whatever she said, it is not true."

"Oh no! I hardly even listen when she speaks," he said and laughed a little. She looked at Christine with a sad expression. Christine wondered if everyone in the building had some strange body part, and if so, what her quirk was.

"Then why?"

"Everyone is being... evicted. The city wants to change this place in to a homeless people's home." After Christine's suspecting look, he admitted: "Well, some stay. But they are practically homeless anyway. Haven't paid their rent for a long time. This is very sudden, indeed. Most exceptional way of handling things, but that's the way it sometimes goes."

"Why can't I stay? You gave me cookies on Thanksgiving."

"Christine, Christine... The men on streets... They are worse than men in jail. For there, in the streets, they do see women, but can't touch. Someone like you... here... with them... Here they can touch! I'm old Christine. I couldn't take it if they did something to you."

"I see. So if they molest me outdoors, it won't hurt your eyes. This makes no sense. Is this even legal? I can always lock the door."

_Surely it couldn't be legal now, could it?_

"I received the info about this yesterday... The city is in a desperate need of empty buildings. Streets squirm with homeless people." He sounded like a politician.

"Hah! So they make more of them by evicting?"

"I'm sorry. I truly am. But you know how hard it is to deal with authorities." His eyes had almost frightening intensity. "They can take everything away from you… if you don't understand your best in good time. Unfortunately they want the house clean by New Year. _Resistance would be futile, Christine_."

Christine swallowed nervously when he came very close, their noses almost touching. "So you must be careful not push it. Plus they gave me money," he added sheepishly.

Now, that was something she couldn't blame him for. She would have needed some money herself too.

"But where do I go?"

"Well... I... I'd love to you to spend a few nights in my house, but it is pretty crowded…," he gestured apologetically.

"Oh."

"Don't you have a friend to stay over?"

"Um. The closest lives in New York. I mean, my family comes from New York, so everybody I know lives in there."

"How about work? If you don't mind me saying, you have gain meat around your bones... I thought your job might be pretty good... Perhaps one of your colleagues could help you?"

Christine's heart made a frantic leap. Oh hell no! _Destler_ was her only "co-worker". Or rather, had been.

"Oh, sure," she lied quickly, not wanting to appear as a social reclusive, that nobody wanted to speak with. She looked around. Her first priority would be to pack her belongings and venture outside. For a moment she wanted to make an impressive storm out, but somehow that felt suddenly a very childish thing to do. She needed her toothbrush.

"Well, it is not like had that many important items anyway..," she told him while he watched her slow movements. She filled a small card box and then glanced at Grizel unsurely.

"Should I -"

"I'll take care of the rest. Please, Christine, call me and tell me how you are..."

Christine stared at him in confusion.

"Why?"

"Because I want to know how you are doing."

"Does it matter? If I died, you wouldn't know."

"Christine!" he gasped, outraged.

"I'm just saying... Besides, I have things to worry about. Like finding a place to sleep in."

"Didn't you say that your co-worker could help you?"

"Ah; I meant a permanent place to stay."

Christine slumped away from her building to her bike, not registering the words that the landlord shouted after her. And kaboom, it rained too. Fate made sure, that the pieces of a horrendous day came together. She patted the saddle of her bike confusedly. Her fate was down to a one question: did she want to live anymore? And if did, what for? And how? Would she turn to Destler or to Raoul? Jesus, Mary and the donkey in the staples. To whom she would go to, humiliate herself, and ask for help?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Eek, eek, eek, eek..._ Christine kicked her bike knowing it was useless. The sudden movement sent water drops flying off her vehicle. Without grease the noise would be going nowhere. She was wet as a sponge in a shower herself. But at least she was going somewhere.

She was heading to Destler's house.

An hour ago she had made a stop at one homeless people's shelter near her former home, but when she had lain down on a worn bed, a huge man's hand had snaked its way onto her stomach and a toothless grin had appeared from her left. Something about "sexy thing" and she had ran from the place.

After 20 minutes in rain, she had made decisions.

Calling to Raoul was out of question. Well, she thought, he wouldn't even answer.

But Destler. He was a rich, though slightly eccentric man, whose frightening portrayal had grown into gigantic portions in Christine's lonely mind. She knew her tendency imagine beyond ordinary. A psychologist had once said to her that some people are very affected by their poor childhoods and their thinking was often very irrational as a result of that. But now, after rather impressive rationalized thinking, Destler wasn't such a bad option to Christine.

Christine didn't like to think herself as a victim, but perhaps a life-time of loneliness had had its toll in her. But she also cherished her ability to imagine, see beyond dusty corners of life. An actor needed imagination.

Perhaps they could make the false marriage work – there was the mutual hate already that should guarantee a respected distance between her and Destler. No need for false pretenses now. She didn't care if he saw her as a hobo. She should concentrate on the money like she had previously done as his employee. But this time she could act in a far more relaxed manner.

Rather embarrasing, really, to think that she had believed him to be a cannibal.

In her haste Christine had left Destler's home's key at the table in his library, so she now had to approach the house by the main door. She had rarely used it, even though Destler had said it didn't matter by which door she entered.

Christine cleared her throat before pressing the button on the entry phone at the massive lock gate surrounding his house and the vast forest of it.

An old man's voice answered. Christine was slightly startled. There _were _other people in the house.

"Who is it?"

This is Christine Daly. I'm here to meet Erik Destler."

"Did you have an appointment? At this hour?"

"No. Just say to him that Christine Daly is here to serve him right. And agrees."

"I can try..."

After a short while the gate opened. Christine slipped in. While she walked towards the house, she thought about the mansion in the film "The Others". It had that same sad mist flowing about. This house, Destler's house, had probably never had anything to do with cocktail parties or birthday celebrations... and to her it was now just another symbol of failure. Only few days ago had she thought differently, gazing the house as a possibility. At the moment she was walking towards a year in... nothingness. In stillness. With a very strange man.

Speaking of men, a tall one was waiting her at the front door. Still not Destler. The man's voice revealed him to be the same in the entry phone.

"Hello," he said, sounding awfully happy suddenly. True to his voice, he was old. He resembled Santa Clause.

"Hello," Christine replied tentatively.

"So you are the Daly."

"Uh, well, I don't think the name is that exclusive..."

"Funny one. I am absolutely elated that you are here. Come in, so you can have some tea."

Christine followed in, letting him get her coat.

"You are absolutely soaked! Where is your umbrella, young woman?"

"Forgot it."

"You must be an absent-minded soul then. Follow me." She did.

"Is Destler joining us?" she asked when they came to a big kitchen. She had always used the… now obviously smaller one upstairs. Her eyes wandered to the fridge and widened. Hell, it couldn't be a fridge – it was a door to food storage.

"Oh, no. He went back to sleep."

Christine's stare went to back to the old man. Her low spirits vanished for she started to feel irritated, even though she was the one arriving in the middle of the night.

"He what?" she asked with barely controlled frustration. She would have wanted to solve things immediately. Was Destler playing with her?

"He was sleepy."

"Great. Well… I guess it is understandable. It is night after all."

Christine thought she shouldn't have said that aloud. Indeed, it was night, 01.30 am. What kind of person arrives at night? The man sitting opposite of her understandably seeped curiosity. Christine was curious too – why he had stayed away all this time? Was he a butler?

But now what? Was she to be ushered outside until morning? Christine contemplated. If she climbed in to a tree in the garden... That would be humiliating. But she'll be damned before literally begging a roof to sleep under.

"You can sleep on the sofa. I don't dare to give a room before he wakes. And I also don't dare to send you back in the rain."

"That's fine. Which couch?"

"The one in the entrance hall."

"The one that Destler sees when he descends the stairs in the morning?"

"Well yes, it is in the entrance after all."

"Ok then."

It would be a very long year indeed if Destler still wanted her as his wife.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Christine woke to silence. Only a ticking clock could be heard. She wasn't used to such quietness, but accepted it when her memory caught up with her. There wouldn't be noises at Destler's residence.

She was currently lying on the plush couch in the entrance hall, her neck aching. She let out a whimper when she noticed it was already 9 a.m. Destler had probably seen her sprawled across his couch, drool dripping from her mouth. So much for her plan to wake up early and face the new day in an elegant sitting position. Christine rose slowly from her sleeping position and took her phone from her small pile of clothes under the couch. No calls from Raoul.

Christine listened carefully. No one seemed to be around. Lights were out. But now that she knew there was actually a living butler in the house, she didn't feel like singing aloud and walking without jeans. She dressed.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" she shouted after folding the blanket she had used. No one answered to her enquiry. So Destler was playing with her. Not even a note on her forehead to tell where she could find him. Well. Christine wasn't going to stoop that low and play hide and seek. The fact that she started to wander around the place was a pure necessity. A Destler wife should know Destler's house. A method actor would do that. He should pay her extra for this.

Christine was time after time happily surprised when the looming presence of her boss non-existed behind doors she opened. If someone had sat outside the house all morning, or like Christine preferred, the castle, the looker would have seen a dancing female hopping through the house, passing each window in a different outfit. And what outfits they were: the first one looked like a very elaborate wedding gown, the next had something to do with 17th century, the third could have taken place at a cocktail party... and so on. She spent quite a time changing clothes, but by the time she reached the second floor, she wore simple sweatpants and a t-shirt.

The second floor... it held many doors that were locked. Christine banged on each one, but didn't try to break them, thinking what Belle had coming after venturing to the left swing...

But there was the humongous balcony Christine had passed numerous times. Its doors opened to her. Christine sniffed the fresh air and laughed when she entered further. What a view! She went forward and leaned on the railing. She sang a verse from _My Heart Will Go On_ before let out a bone-chilling scream out of her lungs: "I AM THE KING OF THE WORLD!" Throughout the forest surrounding Destler's house birds started to flap through the air.

By the time Christine got to the first floor, her energy had finally shrunk to a size of an average human.

A vague smile prettied her face when she walked along the darkened corridors. She came face to face with a room that took her breath away - the kitchen. How could have she forgotten this, the essential part of every home? She was a bit angry at herself for not remembering her lusting last night. She had eaten two crackers like a proper high fashion model when they were offered with the nice tea all the while staring at the fridge. Destler's kitchen was such a huge space, and needless to say, huge was everything in it.

Christine walked slowly to the massive fridge and opened it, her very own Pandora's box. Christine's toes curled in pleasure. _Food!_ SO MUCH FOOD!

_Why am I being so ridiculous?_ she wondered, feeling a tear skating down her cheek when the first wave of cold ice tea flooded her mouth. _I really shouldn't do this. I should find a job_, she sobbed and foraged trough the fridge, _and l__eave this place._ _Nothing good could come out of this._ _I still don't__ know why Destler wa__nts me__ as his wife__._

A delicious doughnut between her teeth Christine looked around before loading her arms with groceries - she took even celery in her mindless greed. Then she looked around again. Still no one. She pondered on her next move – obviously eating in the kitchen would expose her to the danger Destler represented and she really needed her breakfast without interruptions. Maybe use one of the rooms in the house?

She ran to the second floor, chuckling around every corner. She chose a small room with a plasma TV, conquered its bed in one swift jump and started eating the food she had taken, a remote caught in a death grip in her hand. She occasionally flipped the pages of a Cosmopolitan, but quickly abandoned it, finding it more suitable to the someone who had left it in the kitchen.

There were so many things to do, like a change of address, but Christine decided to occypy herself with the TV for a while.

* * *

A grandfather clock chimed loudly at 3 p.m., but it was a man's voice five minutes later that really woke Christine from her thoughts in the small room she had claimed for herself.

"Finally I found you."

"I've done nothing!" Christine stated and launched blindly herself at the speaker with a pillow. She covered his face with it and let out a sigh when saw it was just the old man who had let her in last night. He wasn't Destler, despite the way his eyebrow rose at Christine's words.

Christine looked around the room and decided that distraction was needed.

"You never told me your name," she said and stepped to her left, hoping that the man's gaze would follow. The mess on the bed wasn't that horrific, but she decided friends in the house could be useful. And if this butler liked clean people, that Christine would try to be.

"Dumbo Jones, a butler."

"Nice to…," Christine tried to nod politely, but failed when a snicker left her mouth. "Ha ha… I'm sorry. Nice to meet… Really? Dumbo?"

"Yes."

"Well, as you know my name is Christine, ha-ha, Daly. Really, forgive me. It just sounds so unexpected that Destler has a servant named like that. So… laid-back. To think that _Dumbo_ folds Destler's pants."

There was a quick shift in the atmosphere in the room when Dumbo frowned. It changed from awkward to bad.

"I am not his _servant_. I am a butler. I have had an intensive training for this profession. I _don't_ touch his boxers. And before you assume anything else idiotic, I should state now that I have my own life. I only come here to work. And now I came here to fetch you."

Christine breathed heavily. She really, really, hated it when she was talked to like a child. _If you have your own life, why were you__ here __last night_, Dumbo, she argued in her head because she had become afraid of the man in front of her during the last 60 seconds. She realized he wasn't exactly that old. Actually, he looked now astonishingly young compared to their encounter last night. His stiff way of walking had straightened like he had cured of arthritis overnight. And hell, his face looked much smoother. He seemed to be in his forties. Last night she would have guessed him to be 65. Though there was still the white beard and hair. Strange. A rather impressive act, all in all. Something that a skillful agent might master. But why would he pretend to be older than he actually was?

Christine's eyes narrowed.

_Heureka! Destler's physical condition was something close to Christine's, therefore he wanted his staff to act like they were physically far worse off than him! _

Or perhaps Christine just imagined everything. Destler's house matched the mansions in Agatha Christie's books, therefore one might easily picture it with a typically old butler.

"To where?" Christine asked then.

"Downstairs. "

"What is in there?"

"People."

"People?" Christine looked like she had met her death. She wasn't feeling social at the moment. Her role wasn't ready yet.

"There is a business meeting. They'd like to meet Destler's wife."

Did Dumbo know that Christine wasn't actually a real fiancée?

"Uh… it is still 'miss'. And I am not sure about this; surely I am not needed there... I don't have clean clothes with me at the moment…"

"That can be helped. Destler has selected a dress for you."

* * *

_One__ could almost see her nipples! __Outrageous!_Christine couldn't keep her hands off her. She stood at the door of Destler's office looking down her scantily-clad body. She wanted to cover herself, a shawl would have been nice. It didn't meet the picture she had drawn of Destler that he wanted her to wear a dress that had more cuts than a victim of Jack the Ripper. _This needed to be discussed immediately after the meeting! _They hadn't talked about what her duty as his wife exactly meant but Christine thought she had stressed enough that she wasn't comfortable with anything that included exposed skin. Bloody unfairness, she hadn't even seen him yet, and now she was to present herself as his fiancé in an outfit that didn't match his typical formality? Or at least the fact that he didn't go about his chest bare.

The dress was obviously expensive, it was Versace. Dumbo had smiled approvingly when she had changed into it (in a bathroom, of course, far away from his gaze) and asked if he was sure that this was what Destler wanted her to wear, and told her that she had outdone January Jones who had worn it at Golden Globes.

Christine wasn't convinced. "I think my chest is too small for this…," she had accidentally mumbled out loud. Dumbo had been quick to help.

"How about some silicone breast enhancers?" .

"Sorry?"

"Fillers. They bring up small brea –"

"I _know _what they are! But guess twice if I want to talk about them with you!"

"I see. A sore topic. But organic is always better, indeed."

Christine glared at him, but dared not to voice her opinion of him. Destler wasn't the only cryptic man at the house. Great. Dumbo had first imitated something akin to an English butler, then got angry like a gangster Christine had once set accidentally on fire and now he really should change his name to Peeping Tom.

"Are we supposed to go somewhere?" she had asked after wondering why dress so elaborately for a business meeting.

"I don't know, but you need to go and say hello to them. "

Obviously such was to be expected from Christine in the future, might as well start now. But Christine wanted it in black and white that she got to choose her clothes from now on.

She opened the door between her panic and the silent conversation that Destler and four strangers were engaged in around his massive worktable. Two women and two men.

_I am not a little child, I am not a little child interrupting adults' conversation… _

"Hello, love," Christine said warmly. People at the room turned to look at her.

"Christine Daly, Destler's bride to be," Christine continued and went to shook hands with everyone.

_Shit, should have said _Erik's_. _

Christine was slow in her movements, afraid that her shoes would break. She kept her back straight.

"You are engaged?" a woman, who introduced herself as Amber Dibley, asked in bewilderment.

"Yes," Destler replied curtly.

Christine eyed him. _Had he forgotten her existence? The guests seemed to know nothing about her.  
_

"Well don't just _yes_ there, how come you haven't said anything?" a man named Andrea Williams asked.

"I like to keep to myself. Some things should be kept private," Destler replied and Christine saw his gaze gliding to her chest.

"I don't think a fiancé is something to keep hidden from the world. Though I can understand your fear – she is gorgeous! When is the wedding?" Andrea asked.

"Oh, it is not decided yet," Christine answered coolly before Destler could reply, even though she blushed furiously at Andrea's comment. No one had ever really said anything nice about her. Maybe the man was just being polite.

"I think we should prolong this meeting and have a dinner with you two," Amber said. "Christine, I'd like to know you better. There must be something very special about you. You have stolen Erik Destler's heart! I thought such woman didn't exist!"

Christine almost laughed. If Destler acted around other women like he did with Christine, no wonder no one had stolen his heart.

"A splendid idea!" came an excited cry from the doorway. Dumbo stood there. "There will be a dinner in 20 minutes," he announced and left before Christine could really understand what was happening.

Christine felt uncomfortable as it was; now she should converse throughout a dinner while she played peekaboo with her breasts?

She looked at Destler, expecting to him object.

"It seems we'll postpone the business matters then. Shall we proceed to the dining room, if you please?" he said instead of a stern no.

"Wonderful! I'll go powder my nose," Amber exclaimed. Others rose as well. Christine tried her best to analyze the two men and women who passed her on their way to dining room. Oh well. They looked rich and neat, that was all there was to "analyze". Though the other woman, Carlotta Giudicelli and the other man, Ubaldo Piangi, didn't seem as friendly as Amber and Andrea.

Then she felt a presence behind her.

"Explain."

"Explain, indeed," she countered and turned to see Destler watching her blankly. "We need to make that contract now!"

"I am afraid we have to leave that to tomorrow. We have a dinner to attend."

Christine froze. It had taken a while to tackle her unruly curls to an elegant bun and have a test ride with the high-heels Dumbo had provided. It was already 05.30 p.m. How long could a dinner last?

"Explain, why are you wearing that dress?"

"I think explaining is useless if your memory is like that. _You_ told me to wear it and greet those people."

"I didn't. _My dear_."

Christine gritted her teeth at that. "Well, technically it was your Jeeves."

Erik stared at her.

"Oh I see," Christine realized calmly, left Destler and went to join others in the dining room only one thing on her mind. For once it wasn't money she thought, she was planning revenge. Afterwards she realized she should be pissed more often, for it had felt like the dinner was over in a minute when she had been busy plotting how to get even with Dumbo.

"I will kill you," she had mouthed to him with a big smile on her face when he had poured her champagne. An obvious tremor had travelled his hand. Surprising, but Christine had liked that sign of weakness anyway.

'_Not a servant' my ass. You will be soon licking the dirt off my shoes. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, all! Here's the 8th chapter. And no, I had nothing to with ABBAS's song "Money, Money, Money" when it was made in 1976.**

**CHAPTER 8**

Destler's voice was an irresistible magnet. No. The man himself was a magnet. Just one word, "explain" (he probably used that word often), and Christine glued her limbs to his office door like she was a standing sea star.

His voice was in that horrible ice mode. Words, that were usually neutral when someone else said them, came out of Destler's mouth like snake bites. But Christine just couldn't leave. It was like listening to a car crash. And now that she had that delicious sandwich she had dreamt all morning before finally dragging herself to the kitchen to make it, she might just well eat it downstairs. And listen how Destler once more didn't understand how people around him acted against his logic.

It was Dumbo he was interrogating.

"I came to a conclusion that there isn't an adjective to describe your professionalism. So tell me, the Punjab or something more modern? Hmm, which one do you prefer?"

"Mr. Destler, it was completely unintentional. I was tired –"

"_Silence!"_

Christine shut her hanging jaw. His commanding voice controlled even her and she was behind the door, not the one talked to. She hoped that her curiosity wouldn't harm her. But he shouldn't leave his door ajar. Sloppy.

"Tiredness has never been a reason. You know that. Though _I don't know_ why you choose to say it is."

Silence, then…

"She annoyed me."

Christine had a bad feeling about this.

"Why is that?" said Destler

"That woman is half-witted."

"Why?"

"Well, what do you think! Obviously there is only one brain-cell in her empty cavern that one is supposed to call brain. And the only cell is solely focused on food."

"Food?"

"I swear I leave this house if I have to serve Christine Daly as well! She asked if I have something do with your boxers! Do you really want her in your house? She is a human hamster! You should have seen how she was displayed on that bed, having her –"

_The fucker! _

In a moment of total insanity Christine gave a solid kick to the Destler office door with every muscle cell she possessed. And rest assured, there were plenty of them.

A slight chaos ensued.

"DESTLER!" she boomed in a low voice after the door had crashed against the wall, revealing the occupants of the room. "The contract, I – ARGH! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?"

Christine's pointing finger went from Destler to Dumbo. Dumbo was obviously a mix of a human snake and cat. His face was shriveling off in huge beige chunks not to mention his white hair that had fallen off to his shoulders like some human fur lining, leaving a smooth scalp behind.

"AND WHY YOU HAVE A GUN RAISED AT ME?" Christine continued. Dumbo was quick to tuck the gun back into his jacket. Despite his strange appearance, he seemed to be controlled emotionally, having a blank face. Not a muscle twisted when Christine's sandwich hit his mid-section in delayed self-defense.

"Jones, you show your ass on Monday. If you don't…," Destler whispered, after strange silence.

"Fine," Dumbo agreed shortly and left the room. When he passed Christine, she jumped away in fright. When Dumbo closed the door after him, he stopped to give Christine a glance that didn't really imply he wanted to kill her. But it did make her feel like she was a new species on earth. Christine breathed two deep breaths.

"I don't want to work for you," she declared to Destler with a hollow voice.

"Another one then," Destler muttered and sat, which Christine didn't like. He was like a king on his throne while she was the amusing harlequin at the bottom of stone stairs. Well, at the moment more like a wailing mourner. Who had realized what kind of house she had walked in to. At least his voice was back to normal. Nonchalant.

"Did you just see that? He drew a gun on me! He has a gun!"

"Yes. I saw."

"Do_ you_ have a gun?" Christine's shock dissolved to fear. She rethought her psycho-theory when Destler laughed loudly.

"You do have a gun," she whispered.

"Perhaps I do."

"I don't find this funny. You think violence is funny?"

"Of course not. Sometimes it is just necessary."

"Oh really? You mean someone wants to kill you?"

"You said something about the contract?"

"Don't change the topic! Why was Dumbo like that? How old is he really? "

"He is my bodyguard."

"Oh. A butler and a bodyguard." Christine felt relief.

"Yes."

"But still… what's with the aged appearance? He looked like Santa Clause when I came here!"

"He was evaluating you."  
"He what?"

"Amusing, really. He thinks he knows human race better than I do."

Christine raised her eye brow. She thought that neither of the men "knew human nature". Destler didn't really communicate with people, he wanted from people. And when he wanted something, he went straight to blackmailing. And he seemed to think he was above others, finding it most likely troublesome to engage in to a conversation with anyone. Yes, that kind of person must have "true insight" when it came to human mind, Christine thought dryly.

Dumbo wasn't any better. _Ha._ As if Christine would reveal her inner self to a stranger at their first encounter just because the stranger was old. Or perhaps Dumbo believed people revealed something crucial about them when they were talking to elderly. He had to be one of those people who thought a spouse was horrible if the spouse treated her/his parent horribly.

"Was he evaluating those dinner guests too? He did that have costume and… the slow walking."

"No. There is nothing to evaluate in them."

"Oh. Because they are rich? You two think I am somehow suspicious because I don't have a Chanel sheet as my napkin?"

"I never said what I thought."

"You don't really have to," Christine said quietly.

Destler looked like he was busy analyzing her before he surprised with a question that was asked almost in a flirtatious manner.

"Will you tell me how I think about you? Or even better, why don't you tell me what you think of me?"

There was a playful smile on his lips. Christine couldn't imagine why. It is not like they were in a bar and she had just wet her panties at the sight of a sex god. Who, in this case, was very smug, which was always a turn off.

_Not that Destler was a sex god._ He might be tall, dark and mysterious… Plus considering his perfect posture he probably had fantastic muscle tone under those black clothes… Not to mention his eyes. They were intriguing. Hypnotizing.

And sometimes frightening. Like his personality. Which was why she ought to not trust him, especially when he got… playful.

She decided to change the topic. "I don't understand why you need a bodyguard."

"I sometimes travel to dangerous countries. Dumbo would have not shot you. Despite his appearance. He has had proper training. "

"How often do you travel?"

"From time to time."

"If I am your wife, am I supposed to come with you?"

"Perhaps."

Christine contemplated. Traveling usually meant a loss of privacy. She tried to picture herself with Destler together in public. In a strange country. That involved shooting.

"You know, you already owe me for yesterday's dinner," she said slowly, not really warming to the idea of sharing a room with him in any hotel.

"So you want to discuss your payment."

"No! Money is not all I think about -"

"_In my dreams I have a plan__  
If I got me a wealthy man__  
__I wouldn't have to work at all, I'd fool around and have a ball__  
__  
Money, money, money__  
Must be funny__  
In the rich man's world__  
Money, money, money__  
Always sunny__  
In the rich man's world__  
Aha-ahaa__  
All the things I could do__  
If I had a little money__…__"__  
_

"Oh! A message," Christine said a little startled and took her phone from her pocket. Then she noticed Destler's raised eye brow.

"But of course. I work all night. And all day. And pay the bills I have to pay. And wish to gamble at Monaco," she smiled hesitantly. Destler just stared silently.

_I am failing again. She really, really liked Abba. And money. But what a way to give Destler another reason to believe she only liked money. She was going to change her ring-tones._

Christine's eyes dropped to her phone.

"_**Christine. Forgive me, change of plans. I am in a country that has bad reception. I'll explain later. I'm planning to come to Los Angeles for Christmas. You fine with that?"**_

She smiled when she read Raoul's message. Suddenly it didn't matter that it was nearing Christmas and she was still in L.A. among people who carried guns and acted like jungle people. A lovely idea formed in her head.

"Ahem. You know... If I'm to play your wife, I guess I have some rights in the house? Like have a friend to stay over for a while?"

She was sure that Destler would say no. But he said yes without hesitation.

"Really?"

"Of course."

Christine was actually a bit disappointed to not to get to explain facts why Destler's house needed more life forms. But he must have been aware of that already.

"Who is she? The friend of yours."

"He is Raoul de Chagny. The man I was supposed to visit on Christmas. I - " Christine shut her mouth when it registered to her mind that he didn't look disinterested anymore - more like a parent that had discovered something less flattering about his peril. But because he didn't say anything, Christine turned to leave. She reached the door before he stopped her.

"Sure he can come. But remember, you cannot tell him the truth about our arrangement."

"What? I'm sure he wouldn't tell anyone." At this his eyes frowned.

"But I'm not. If you won't play the part of a smitten wife, he cannot stay."

"But... But then he thinks -"

"Thinks what?"

"I... um. Nothing. Fine."

"Christine… the contract?"

"Oh. Of course. Forgot."

Christine sat to negotiate.

* * *

_Hmm... I guess things will get intense when Raoul arrives._

**- Bearded Tit **


	9. Chapter 9

I am such a lazy person sometimes. Forgive me. - Bearded Tit

* * *

CHAPTER 9

"_**Introduce yourself. Like you mean it. Performance time is two minutes."**_

Christine patted her earlobe when she finished reading the small paper in her hand. _Like you mean it_ - did they want passion? Passion for acting? The passionate ability to make lies believable? Did they give her the permission to lie?

Christine didn't oppose lying. She wanted to lie, desperately, to make them not see what she thought she was.

Yes. She should and would lie, even when she had a need to stay silent, curl into a fetal position and forget the awful world she lived in.

But she could be someone else. Yes. She wouldn't tell about her real life, her failures. She wouldn't tell them that her current job included occasional peeping into social events. It sounded so... stupid. Lazy. Worthless. The only reason she now felt slightly competent was because of this theatre she had walked into 15 minutes ago. This McKintosh Theatre. Run by Alfred McKintosh. He was in a need of new actors. Christine had noticed his advertisement in the paper this morning.

Her anxiety Christine had noticed after two days at Destler. In her lust after money she had actually forgotten her pride. And she had been so sure she had pride that no check could waver. But what to feel proud of, when you do nothing else but wait a man to give a sign to accompany him to a dinner party or something else as boring?

Destler hadn't needed Christine yet, but if the dinner with those snobbish rich people had been any indication, she would probably need medication to get through such events next twelve months.

She had especially hated talking to that Carlotta woman. Carlotta if anyone would have been the perfect wife for Destler. If one knew Destler, one didn't need to know anything else about Carlotta. And that Piangi… He had dropped his fork and "accidentally" touched Christine's thigh four times with his lingering greasy fingers during the dinner. After 10 minutes they had settled around the table, it had been hard for Christine to concentrate on nothing but hating three people around it – Carlotta, Dumbo and Ubaldo.

Christine had taken notice on how much they had talked about music, however. It seemed composing was Destler's hobby, which was a bit surprising. But of course, he was often well-composed. Hardy ha. Christine liked music too. She enjoyed singing and listening to music, but she didn't have knowledge of music theory. The fancy words that Destler, Amber, Andrea, Ubaldo and Carlotta had used said nothing to Christine. They especially had discussed opera. All in all, the dinner conversation had been awfully dull to Christine.

Christine sighed. Desperation was her greatest motivation, and yet, her desperation was her greatest passion. _Or whatever._ She felt uneasy at incoherent thoughts running through her head.

Christine took a glance at the girl next to her - noticing how her whole body moved when she wrote down something heatedly on her paper. Obviously formulating lines to remember!

Christine quickly bent down in a useless attempt to check her bag for a pen - how could she have been so stupid not to take one with her! Her bag offered an old red chalk, and because it was banned to speak to others, Christine didn't dare to ask for one. Her palms emitted a layer of fear-induced sweat - she wasn't going to make it!

Not long after Christine's soaked hands did the director rise from his chair and glance down at them - the hopeful actor candidates.

"God. You people look too happy... Well, I'm not. You in the stupid t-shirt, up. And make us see."

Everyone leaned forward on their seats to see what was stupid - The Beatles fan shirt. It was worn by the girl next to Christine. The girl rose and took the stage. Literally. She made circles on it, gliding from one side to another before she stopped and held her paper in front of her like an expensive vase.

"Why am I here? Me, Susan," she asked philosophically. Her eyes inspected the ceiling, and then came down on Christine.

"You there, answer me!" Susan's voice turned hoarse, shaking with passion, her eyes wide with... anger that weight losers gave to McDonalds.

"Because you came," Christine replied simply, knowing it would look good if she didn't hesitate to hop along the little play the Beatles girl had started.

"But why? There is a reason for everything, human."

"You felt an urge to come."

"What urge?"

"The urge to... be seen."

"WHY?"

"I don't know... you alien."

Someone laughed out loud.

"So you think I'm an outsider."

"You made me one first. Calling me human. Maybe you yourself feel like one. Like an alien."

Susan was obviously an intelligent lazy fucker who is just counting on me, Christine thought. She was proving to be a real rival. How brilliant her strategy was - Susan made Christine dance like a puppet!

"Uh... I'm here, because since I was six -" the Beatles girl started again before pausing to look at her paper.

"STOP!"

The director had spoken and risen.

"Did I ask for a life story? Are you here to perform?"

The girl nodded.

"Well, then I want you out. I want people who live, not perform! I don't want monkeys like you."

The girl said nothing and disappeared. Christine's subconscious was doing its best to create a condition for fainting. Her eyes rolled a little in her head.

Suddenly the director's finger pointed at her.

Christine strode determinedly even though her eyes had hard time focusing on anything. When she faced the auditorium on stage, the director sighed.

"I am so, so, so tired. Are you tired?" He talked to a woman beside him. The woman smiled wryly.

"I want coffee... It would make me so, so, so happy. Maybe generous even... Maybe a ticket to inside -"

A tall boy rose. The director's eyebrow lifted lazily.

"Are you going to fetch me coffee?"

"Yes," came the eager reply.

"Good. And don't bother coming back. I don't want your kind either." The boy's face saddened, but he didn't protest and left like an obedient lamb. Christine's eyes rolled again in her head, now much more uncontrollably than before. The director then noticed her for a change.

"I hope you are not going to throw up on my stage. But there is a vacancy for a cleaner. God, I'm still tired... Well girl, I want you to be a tree."

_Wait, a tree? This didn't read in the paper_! _What are you doing, Christine? Why are you standing still? How long are you going to let these kind of people walk over you? You are not an old dog, you are a pup who is steadily growing to be one damn old dog. But you don't want to be a dog, you desire to be a wolf. You have been__ a submissive__ pup, because you never had the time to adjust properly, to take your time to learn your environment, know its tricks. To hunt like a wolf. So who is this "director"? Someone who can't kill you. But you can, once in his life, insult him back, until you walk out of here, away from this stupid "modern theater" to find a place where they actually __have plays and sets. So what are you going to say? Let him know, why he is here. Why he is a failure. Why he is ru__n__ning a theater right next to a landfill._

Someone applauded. It was the director. "Very good. A tree does nothing. Girl, you are in."

Christine came out of her stupor and noticed the many faces staring her.

_But do I want to be in? This place -_

"Girl, outta there or I'll take someone else instead."

Christine complied like a kitten and hopped off the stage.

**THREE DAYS LATER**

Christine had never talked so much in 72 hours before. When the audition for McKintosh Theatre had been over, the selected mass was divided into two groups that were to rival against each other. To Christine's horror she was in a group that named itself as The Shakespeare Lovers, while the other group selected a far more interesting name, The Skull Crushers. The Lovers were quickly dominated by Meg Giry, a human being that Christine was fast to dislike. Meg wanted to do sappy romantic plays, talked constantly, wore pink, kept repeating how romantic her boyfriend was, but most importantly… she run the Lovers. The task that Christine would have wanted. For a moment Christine even thought about starting her own one woman company. But it seemed that despite the talking tutu (Meg was a ballet dancer) as their leader, Lovers had successfully made a democratic decision to have a Christmas party in order to get to know each other better.

And Christine had blurted that she had room.

And now Lovers were about to play hide-and-seek in the Destler mansion. Thankfully Destler was out of town until 25th. But unlikely one might assume, Christine had told him about their Christmas party. And surprisingly he had been fine with it.

It was the 22th of December. Not only was today Lovers' party, this was the day Raoul had chosen to come to L.A. In fact, a buzzing intercom could be heard right now.

_He is here! Finally. Any more of that shit that leaves Meg's throat and I would have hit myself, _Christine thought in delight, and fled the Destler library where the Lovers were currently partying.

"I'll get it!" Christine yelled and ran down the steps of the entrance hall stairs. She continued her haste until she reached the gate that drew line between Destler and the world. A taxi drove through and a blonde man stood out of it.

Raoul was even more handsome that Christine remembered. She looked at him a bit startled, not really knowing what to say. Well. She did want to scream 'DON'T YOU EVER LEAVE ME AGAIN", but that would be clingy.

Oh how strange she must look. Ran like an escaping mental patient before turning into a human rock, all that in just 90 seconds.

But Raoul had no problem with forming words.

"Christine. Finally."

His voice melted Christine's ears. It was so warm!

"Hello," Christine whispered and noticed how shy her own voice sounded.

"You didn't have to come all the way to the gate, you know."

"Don't be silly. It is my friend's house. I couldn't possibly let his servants do things for me. Though, of course just pressing the button would have been enough… But… I just… wanted to see you."

"He has servants?"

"Oh yes," Christine replied. They started to walk slowly towards the house. Never really looking away from each other. When they entered the entrance hall, Christine realized that Raoul had come empty-handed.

"Where is your luggage?"

"Christine. There is another change of plans."

"Oh?"

"I can't stay here."

"What!"

"Well, I am going to stay here in L.A., but in a hotel."

"But -"

They were interrupted by an old man who appeared on the top of the entrance hall stairs. Dumbo was on his actor mode again. Christine was battling with irritation as soon as she turned to watch his noisy descending with a cane, but chose to fume silently when Dumbo finally reached them and poked Raoul with his stick.

"And who are you, young man?"

"I am Raoul De Chagny," Raoul said politely and offered his hand to Dumbo. Dumbo took it and shook it slowly.

Christine found it peculiar that Santa D decided to appear now, two hours after the arrival of Lovers. If Destler was so in need of security, why on earth did only Raoul have to pass Dumbo's approval? And why wasn't Dumbo accompanying Destler wherever he had travelled to make business?

"Did Destler have something on his mind?" Christine asked when Dumbo told Raoul his name.

"No," Dumbo replied and grinned. Christine bit her cheek. She still disliked Dumbo so much that it almost hurt.

"Oh. Well I guess you want to go to sleep then. It is almost eight you know."

"I suppose," Dumbo said with an amused tone.

"Well, I guess Raoul and I shall join the party now."

"Sure, sure," Dumbo murmured and watched intently when Christine took Raoul's hand and led him to the library where she introduced him to the Lovers. Despite Christine's fear, Dumbo didn't follow and Raoul took gladly part in their hide-and-seek. Christine was happy they decided to play the game in dark – Meg's and other females' appraising looks when Raoul entered the library hadn't escaped Christine's eyes. Later they, Christine and Raoul, would talk properly, Christine decided. There was no turning back now. Raoul was hers. It was high time for the point of no return.

**20 MINUTES LATER**

_Oh God, that smell_. Christine inhaled deeply. _Musk, forest, sandal wood…_

It had to be Raoul! She had sniffed the fragrance for the first time shortly after Raoul had emerged from the taxi 30 minutes ago. Shivers went up and down in Christine's body. Darkness stirred some unspeakable feelings in her and all of sudden she boldly glided her hands higher from his ankles where she had started her identification try from. Christine was the seeker at the moment. She could always blame her touching on her poor balance.

"These legs are very manly," she pondered out loud. "Or someone of you girls is on steroids."

Her hands mover higher.

"So it's a male. A male that sure has some fine feeling pants. And tight. You can feel the muscles through the fabric. Which are tight too."

_OMG, I can't believe I just said that! What is wrong with me? _Christine felt like running away from the house, but knew it would look suspicious. Uh oh, she couldn't stop now.

"Which one of you gentlemen starts his day with a sweaty workout, huh?"

Then Christine slapped Raoul lightly on the ass. _OMG_, she growled immediately in her mind after the mindless act, _what the bloody hell is wrong with me?_ Her brows twisted in horror. _THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NO REASON TO GO THAT FAR!_ It was highly doubtable that Raoul would ask her on a date if she made advances like this.

At least he didn't say anything.

_And hey, surely Raoul would protest out loud if he hated her... touching_.

Christine's embarrassment grew when someone wondered what was the noise they just heard. But nonetheless, Christine's hands continued their journey onto Raoul's hips. She moved her fingers towards his front, but then, finally, she caught herself before milk was spilled again.

_She didn't dare to go there, not just yet_ - er, ever, she argued with her crude subconscious mind that had made itself very conscious during the last minutes. Now how would it look if she made a guess by _this_ specific male part? She had already felt the man for two minutes, while everyone else had made their guesses after 20 seconds.

"Is it Raoul?" Christine's voice cracked slightly.

"No," came the reply from the opposite of the room.

"Oh," Christine's hands flew away from the body she had been busy touching. Oh God, hopefully it wasn't George! George who had hopped after Christine like an eager puppy since the audition, ready to lick her fingers if she dirtied them on something. Okay, perhaps not the best figurative. But still. He was infatuated with Christine.

Oh God, hopefully it was just a ghost!

"Um… George then?"

"No," came the voice from the left of Christine.

_Thank you heaven!_

"John?"

" Conan? Matthew? Patrick? NO?"

Christine rubbed her palms anxiously. Then she, very quickly, with the greatest speed ever, touched the bottom in front of her again...

No, she hadn't imagined it. A firm male butt. But perhaps…

"Um...Alicia?" her voice quivered. Alicia was a bit… bigger than perhaps an average woman.

"You bitch!"

Christine's hands flew in the air in a defeated manner, even though no one could see.

"Hey, not funny, you guys! There's no one left. The game has no purpose if someone just decides to pretend anonymous..."

Silence. Until Meg spoke.

"Oh my God Christine. There's an intruder here!"

Christine stumbled backwards and sent one of Erik's vases to the floor. "Shit fuck satan... PUT THE LIGHTS ON!" she mumbled and screamed, thinking how Erik would shorten her payment now for sure. There were rapid sounds all over the room until someone found the light.

Christine squinted her eyes. Her mortal being changed in to a beetroot as soon as she made eye contact with her Beloved Husband.

**45 SECONDS LATER**

"Who the hell are you?" George demanded. Christine gathered her senses when Erik turned to watch George. First she pushed the vase pieces behind a pillar, after that tried sending a warning through her pantomime behind Erik's back, but George was too engaged in to his knight in shining armoire - act to notice her frantic movements.

George stepped forwards, eyeing Erik. But as hard as he tried, George couldn't grow length to get into Destler's eye-level. Erik was quiet for a while.

"I'm Erik Destler. Christine's husband," he finally said with a voice that didn't particularly hint of any emotion Christine could think of. Eyes widened throughout the room. It was almost audible when they popped open.

_Shit._ Christine started to laugh. "Oh God," she breathed and slapped Erik's back. "Well hello to you too!"

She was glad that he seemed pretty uninterested about their game, that she admitted, didn't really evaporate high-cultured theatre as she had previously advertised to him. "Ha! He is always like this! Just comes into a room and... speaks."

Christine's face got desperate when she paused to think what Destler had said – how could she possibly get through this mess without Raoul realizing that Destler was her husband? And without Destler realizing that Christine hadn't told Raoul about her fresh marriage? She hoped she had it made sound as if Destler had joked about the husband thing. Now that she really thought about it, it was just good that Raoul couldn't stay at Destler's house.

Christine doubted feelings could be detected from her tomato soup -face at the moment. People would just detect the tomato on the top of her body.

She hadn't seen Destler in the last 48 hours. And he was supposed to be out of town. And now he chooses to appear? And shouldn't he be moving already?

"Well, I'm sure you want to go to finish an opera of yours!" she exclaimed and dared to even push him a little from his back. This time she kept her remark about his strong body part to herself. He looked down on her, making her mimic George in an attempt to make her legs grow.

Meg gasped.

"That Erik Destler?"

Christine's head turned abruptly. She had never expected Destler to be known by... anyone. Least by Meg. To be honest, Christine had happily thought that Meg was uncultured and simple, just like her. And now what was this that she discovered? Meg knew Erik by his name. She knew opera. So Destler had published something? Meg knew some unknown note-scribbler. Well, not-so-unknown note-scribbler. Damn, she must be really in to music. Well, Christine thought reassuringly, that didn't make Meg necessarily intelligent.

Then gasped George.

"Mr. Destler, I'm your biggest fan," he whispered, came forward and grasped Destler's hand in his. To Christine's delight Erik looked irritated by the attention he had got in mere seconds, which should teach him to burst in to a room in a middle of fun.

Alice's head turned in slight anger that she hadn't been confined in, but Christine believed those brown orbs smoldered partly of Christine's assumption about Alice being built like Destler.

"Why didn't you tell us, Christine, that -," Alice began, but Christine interrupted.

"YES! I know. But he likes his privacy, so..."

"I meant -"

"YES, it is incredible. Now, why don't we move in to the garden to talk about the highs and lows of outdoor theatre!"

"No, please, continue that game of yours. Don't let my presence bother you."

Christine eyed his fake spouse. He faced her intense staring calmly. He had to be up to something. There was no way he wanted to participate in their childish game without some ulterior motive. But what was that motive?

Christine noticed how everyone seemed to be embarrassed. Amazing what one old man could do to a group of young people having fun. The Shakespeare Lovers fidgeted nervously.

"It was just a relaxation exercise in the middle of a real practice," Christine replied. Destler smiled suddenly.

"Yes. I could feel it."

"Well. Good. So it works. Now -"

Erik stared at her in surprise.

"Wait. You do that to everyone?"

"No, I didn't know it was you..," Christine replied quietly, and confused by his odd staring, stared him right back.

They stayed like that for quite a time, much due to the fact that Christine was afraid of losing some bizarre contest.

Then Meg coffed.

"Christine, isn't it quite impolite to not to introduce your friends to him?"

Without taking his eyes off of Christine, Erik commented smoothly: "Indeed. Your friend is quite right. For example, what might this young man's name to be? Raoul, perhaps?" He gave George quickly a face that wasn't too friendly.

"He is George. Others reply to names like John, Meg, Alice, etc. NOW GET OUT EVERYONE OR YOU WON'T GET THOSE REFRESHING MANGO DRINKS I PROMISED! HA HA HAA!" Christine laughed and almost cried at the same time.

"But I'd like to hear more about them."

"Perhaps De-, Erik, but we're busy."

"Oh no we aren't. We'd love to hear more about you too," Meg cut in with eyes oh so cloudy. Christine's brow rose.

"Yes Meg, I'm sure your boyfriend doesn't mind that you're going to be late from the dinner he has prepared with his own hands. You did talk about that for about, what, 40 minutes."

"Oh, he won't mind. At least I don't mind, his cookings are mostly shit."

Christine's jaw dropped.

"Well?" Erik pressed.

"Fine."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Christine stood before a bathroom mirror.

_Who am I?_

Considering what was most likely happening in Destler's dining room, her existential crisis had a bad timing, but as usual, it was going to take a while before Christine could shape up, take action and fight for her... rights.

She was glued to her place. All of a sudden she was a member of a theater group and lived in a mansion…. and it wasn't a dream. All true. All so very overwhelming.

To clear her head, she should go back to basics. Alongside acting and money, Raoul was one of the things she had wanted for a very, very long time.

"What's with the gloomy face, then, eh?" Christine muttered to her reflection. "Raoul is here. You are acting, you are in a theater company. And –"

Ah. Yes. Money. Now she had money. But the way she got her money was still eating her a bit… As if she didn't really earn it. It was a ridiculous sum Destler was paying. And to her, of all people. Thankfully Destler was an awful person. It balanced the situation somewhat.

Christine pinched her cheeks and left the bathroom.

She had been right, for when she entered the dining room, Meg was there busy grilling Destler. Aka asking questions. The situation could have not been worse. But it was – the only free place at the table was next to Destler and to top that, Raoul sat next to Meg. Christine took her time by adjusting the flower setting by the door before walking stiffly to the free chair. It surprised her that even a glance at Raoul made her chest ache. The soft lightning in the room complimented his appearance - his golden hair, his blue eyes, his warm skin tone... Yes, it was very apparent that he was a very attractive man.

But it never really was about the looks, was it, Christine thought, it was about the way he is. How he lives. How he sees good in everything. He makes life seem… sweet.

_And I am quite the opposite, _Christine thought bleakly._ Should I re-consider this… wooing I am about to do? Maybe we should just stay friends. My thoughts today has been centered on money and on the desire to be better than everyone else among The Lovers and on the fact how much I detest Meg…. _

And Raoul. He must have thought that today he is going to see his friend from high school and see how she is doing. And how he is going to write his next article about the homeless in L.A. How he is going to do lots of proper, good things in his near future.

"So, how did you guys meet?" Meg asked when Christine took her seat. Just a glimpse of Meg and Christine's desire to have Raoul was back.

Meg was sipping her wine…in a strange manner. As if she was trying to eat Destler with her half-open eyelids.

_Unbelievable. But good_. If Meg focused on Destler, Christine didn't have to worry about Meg's interest in Raoul.

"Hah, you certainly don't waste any time, do you now?" Christine said to her plate and stabbed an overly oily salad that Dumbo had most likely put there for her on purpose. Before Destler could speak, Christine took a deep breath and announced shortly: "We just met and he had a spare room."

"Sweet Jesus, are all of these rooms occupied then?" George asked.

"No," Christine told. What kind of question was that? Though... Perhaps the rooms were occupied. Destler could be a whore. What he did in his life and in those numerous rooms, how would she know. But she wasn't going to voice this thought aloud. Not that there was something wrong about being a whore. Maybe he even wasn't a whore. Just a sex addict. Unless of course he took money from those numerous women...Or men. But there was nothing wrong about being a prostitute. Unless of course one was forced to do it.

"Which one of you is Raoul De Chagny?" Destler asked suddenly.

"HA HA!"

"Christine, is everything okay?" Meg asked.

"Of course. It is… just… really… stressful. This situation of ours. You know. We are competing against The Crushers. And right now… Right now we are just …wasting time."

"Hey, it is not like we can't learn from Destler!" George protested.

"Yeah. And it is you who invited _him _here!" Meg pointed at Raoul. _Shit._ Christine could only watch when Raoul and Destler looked at each other.

"So you are De Chagny," Destler stated and put his fork down.

"Yes." Raoul smiled weirdly. Destler's smile wasn't any better – Christine frowned when she saw the wolfish spread of lips he had mastered probably two hours after his birth.

"I've read your articles," Destler said.

Why would he do that, Christine wondered. Was Raoul accomplished at something too? She really needed to do some research tomorrow.

"Really? All of them?" Raoul looked as surprised as Christine.

"Yes."

"I see," Raoul said like a blind man.

"So tell me, why did you come to L.A.?" Destler asked intensely, like it was a question he desperately needed an answer to.

"To see Christine," Raoul replied.

"For how long have you known her?"

"Since high school."

"I see. Should I be jealous?"

Before Christine could once again resort to her loud laugh, Destler pressed his lips against her cheek. She jumped high in her chair and let out a scared shriek, making everyone at look her like she was acting strangely.

For a soon-to-be-married female who just got a kiss from her future husband, she was, she realized after watching others in bewilderment. Oh no. Destler had made them believe she was an engaged woman after all!

"She is my wife after all. Well, fiancé at the moment."

Meg cut in. It was the first time when Christine was relieved to hear her talk. "So Raoul, you don't have a girlfriend?"

"No," Raoul answered slowly.

Christine took a mandarin from a fruit basket and pressed it between her palms under the dinner table to hide the anger that shook her fists. There wasn't really anything she could do – throwing a knife into Meg's head would be too forward to halt The Ballet Duck's heavy flirtation. Oh how Christine disliked Meg! No, she hated her. How Meg always took action when she wanted something…

Abruptly, Destler's head was almost leaning against Christine's.

"I take it you like to squeeze things," he whispered into her ear. His voice had definitely taken the rare pleasing sound today. It felt as if melted chocolate had just petted her ear.

Christine turned to watch him to eye to eye. What to say, she did not know, but she knew what to feel, all right – irritation, anger, frustration.

"What do you think you are doing?" she said, whispering too. Destler was destroying her plans.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I asked you first."

"I am just trying to make a point to that boy across the table."

"And what is that point?"

"That you are mine."

"I am not _really _yours," despite her growing irritation, she still managed to whisper.

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You didn't tell him about your marital status."

"I… well...I… Ok. I didn't. I was busy."

"He is attracted to you, I can see."

"He is just a friend. And don't make it sound like it is a miracle that someone finds me attractive."

"And I am _just your husband_."

"Jeez! We are not married yet. You are taking this play far too seriously."

"Don't think you can date him under my eyes."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

"Just…. give me time."

Destler looked her in a way that told her he was considering the many possibilities he obviously thought Christine might do instead of telling the truth to Raoul, before he relented and nodded. He slipped his hand under the table and snatched the mandarin from Christine's hands. She glared at him, but said nothing. Instead she took her napkin and wiped pointedly her left cheek where Destler had kissed her.

* * *

At the end of the long evening the Lovers had had, Meg was the hardest one to throw out of the house.

"You are _married_ to _him_?" she insisted asking at the front door, all the while trying to have one lustful glimpse of either Destler or Raoul.

"Didn't I tell you that he joked?" Christine replied anxiously. Raoul was waiting her in the garden. Destler… she didn't want to know. Hopefully he was brooding in private somewhere around the house, far from her.

"No. You said that he comes and speaks."

"Yes, that meant joking! Jeez. Your understanding of hidden undertones makes me ill."

Meg opened her mouth, but Christine opened the door and pushed her out.

"Well… well, we should definitely do this again! And have both Raoul and Erik with us," Meg managed to suggest before the door closed.

_Finally… _Christine ran to the garden.

Raoul was sitting on a stone-carved bench. Christine stood behind a large bush so that Raoul couldn't see him and adjusted her hair, but her loud panting gave her away.

"Raoul!" she gasped and smiled. "You're still here."

"Well, you did promise a roof to sleep under. Even though I can't stay…"

"Yes. Yes. I just can't believe that you're finally here. You're here."

My libido has finally been released, Christine thought when a powerful urge to kiss Raoul emerged in her suddenly. But she just… couldn't. A kiss at that moment would look desperate. She knew that people didn't find that as an attractive quality. Her first social worker Jane had said that desperation was the number one reason why orphans didn't get adopted. Why Christine never got a family. She really didn't afford to screw things up now. But for one kiss she could've even kissed Mr. Destler first...

Christine cringed. _Oh god, could she ever get rid of that insufferable man_? She gazed around. _While in his garden, perhaps not._

"Raoul. There's much I want to speak about." She sat next to him on the bench.

"Me too."

"Strange, now that I said that, I can think of nothing. I guess I could settle for just looking at you."

"I'm flattered."

_Oh shit, had she just sounded like a desperate parasite that she was?_ Christine smiled sheepishly.

"I... Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure."

"You know, for a moment I feared that you wouldn't come."

"You feared in vain. I'm here now. Or is there something else that you're afraid of?"

_No, not now that I see that you are free as a bird for me to catch. Come and take your worm!_

God, if she could make this work, she could destroy it too. Not the sexiest thing to say. _A worm._

"What do you mean?"

"That man had a strange impact on you. Are you afraid of Destler?"

"What? No. Don't be silly. He is eccentric, like many artists are, and we've had our differences, but no. Not afraid."

Christine's pants were on fire. In a bad way. In truth, Destler didn't seem to be such a harmless cold jerk anymore. To tell the truth, the heated change of words during the dinner made him appear like the stony psychopath Christine had him thought to be just one week earlier. But Raoul was here, right in front of her, and no matter how awful was the beast who owned the mansion she now lived in, she would now focus only on the man she wanted.

"Good. Ever since that man who beat my sister right under our noses and we didn't notice... I don't want that happen again…," Raoul said quietly and looked at the bush before them before he took Christine's hand in his. He started to make small circles on her palm with his thumb.

"But you're here now. Even he'd try to hit me, you can stop him. And you did realize that we are not married, right? He just has this weird sense of humour he likes to flaunt."

Christine sighed in her head. This wasn't exactly her idea of their first proper conversation since high school, she thought in disappointment. But the way Raoul was touching her hand was hypnotizing and made her feel warm after the horrible evening. Sitting next to Destler was like sitting next to an open fridge.

"Indeed I am here. I just… It still makes me so mad. I can't… How can some people be so evil?"

"It is over now," Christine offered hesitantly.

"Those kind of low-lifes should be terminated," he stated suddenly in a cold voice.

"I guess… Some people are just like that… You know, Stalin, Mao –"

"I know where they live. Where they come from."

Christine ran out of words. She almost laughed, for Raoul sounded like he was talking about aliens or vampires. She felt ashamed – the topic was important for him. Christine did remember that Raoul's sister, Amelie, had always expressed her disapproval when Christine had been around ("It must be raining, for rats have ascended from the cellars, I see!") but that of course didn't make it right that Amelie's boyfriend had engaged in domestic violence.

And here was Christine – able to only think about her relationship with Raoul. A relationship that wasn't close enough. Romantic enough.

"Anyway, I don't want to talk about him. It is you who I came to see," Raoul said and smiled again.

"Indeed. Can I ask you for a favour?"

"Sure."

"Could we just sit here for a while? In silence. This night wore me down."

He nodded. Christine leaned back on the bench. They stared ahead.

"Can I ask for another favour?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure."

"Is there any way... that..."

"Yes?"

"You could...," Christine paused, "change your cologne?"

* * *

Yes. I know. It has been a while. But life happened. Just so you know, still not giving up on this story. If someone still reads this...

**BeardedTit**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Before putting on her morning robe, Christine rolled slowly around her big bed, enjoying the moment, the anticipation, the things that were yet to happen. Today, she was going to see an opera for the first time in her life. With Raoul. She had worried about the ticket price, but Raoul had assured her that he had gotten his tickets free from his friend who worked as a critic for the same paper as Raoul. Of her fear of not being familiar with the opera etiquette she had stayed mute about. But Raoul's sister wouldn't be there to laugh, so perhaps Christine might relax a bit and not bite her nails off if she did something weird in front of Raoul.

_Hmm..._ An opera seemed a bit exaggerative for a first date… Christine frowned. Raoul hadn't exactly said anything about a date. In fact, the only thing obviously romantic last night had been the way he had held her hand. And it just might be that he gave hand massages to everyone. Doubt wasn't a nice feeling, so Christine shrugged it off of her shoulders.

Finally she got herself out of the bed and headed downstairs. Humming, she pushed the kitchen door open, ready for those delicious pan cakes that had sat at the breakfast table every morning during her stay at the mansion.

As usual, the lavish breakfast was served on the table by some invisible person. But unlike before, there was someone sitting at the table. _Destler._

_Crap._ Why of all mornings was he here now? He had never been in the kitchen before. Well, at the same time with her, at least.

It seemed he didn't notice her behind his morning paper, so Christine decided it would be better to hide in the library until he finished his breakfast. But when she took her first retreating step, he lowered his paper.

"You look tired."

Christine stopped in her tracks. "Perhaps. Raoul and I talked rather late."

"Peculiar."

"Sorry?"

"That you are awake then."

"Well. People tend to wake up after they have slept."

"I've seen you sleeping."

"Ok," Christine replied hesitantly. "So I sleep. That is rather normal, right?"

"Before you start thinking something unflattering about me, I must correct your thoughts – I have not spent time lurking in your room. I've seen you sleeping only once. It was the morning after when you arrived here. And based on how you were plastered on my couch, I'd guess it would be a tedious task to wake you up early. It is only 7 a.m. You have slept for, what, like 4 hours?"

"How would you know?"

"I couldn't sleep last night. So I went for a walk. And saw you two still talking at 2 a.m."

"Oh. Well, I just didn't feel like sleeping."

Christine' stomach felt a bit uneasy. Thinking it would be better to eat right away, she chose to stay in the room after all. _Just refrain yourself from angering him and things will go smoothly…_ She moved towards a chair that wasn't her favourite, for Destler sat in her usual place. She took a glass of orange juice, though would have preferred hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. She sipped the juice, careful not to spill and accompanied it with whole grain bread instead of pan cakes.

The table lay bare of anything to use with syrup, anyway. Where had the pancakes gone? she wondered and looked around slowly. Well, no matter, she thought. She was going to see Raoul today. Maybe they would sell something sweet to eat at the opera.

Destler lowered his paper again.

"You look oddly happy too."

_Well, excuse me. _

"Just thinking about today's plans."

"What are you going to do?"

"Meet Raoul."

"And at what time that would be?" he inquired.

"Well, Lovers have a rehearsal today, and Raoul has to do some research for his next article… We are meeting at six."

Christine rubbed her stomach. Something wasn't right…

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Destler asked.

She raised her eyes to his in confusion. "No..?"

"_We _have a date tonight."

"A date?"

"Yes?"

"Actually, two dates."

Christine leaned forward on her chair. "No! We agreed that you warn me two days before any event I'm supposed to go with you. "

"You can only blame yourself."

Christine crossed her arms. "Oh really? And why is that?"

"We have a wedding to plan. When Carlotta insisted on asking about our relationship you said yourself suddenly that we vow eternal love for each other on the 25th of April. '_And at least 250 guests will be invited.'_ So I took the liberty to organize a meeting with a wedding planner."

"But I thought we'd just go into a magistrate…just the two of us," Christine said, feeling rather silly of a sudden. That blasted dinner! Damn that Carlotta and Dumbo. Dumbo for distracting by being the dog of Satan, Carlotta for pestering her with questions. Christine hadn't really paid attention to the things that Giudicelli had said, just blurted out things to get rid of her.

"So did I. But you changed that matter. You kept it together very well, remember? First you declared that the wedding day wasn't decided yet and then... it was."

"Yes…I remember now," she admitted grudgingly.

Christine sighed and patted her stomach again. She made sure that Destler was reading his paper again before slowly moved her hand between her thighs. When she felt the moisture there, she sighed mentally. Perhaps, as a woman, it was a sign of total indifference about everything in life if you didn't write it down when your periods started and ended. Christine had never actually paid attention to the cursed blood shedding, so she couldn't estimate when they would start. Once again, she had been ambushed by her bodily functions.

"You know, now you look ill," Destler remarked suddenly.

"You would too if you leaked blood," Christine muttered and thunked her head on the table.

Silence.

"Did you say you're bleeding?"

"Don't worry, its not infectious," she waved her hand as if no care in the world. "Though I would appreciate it if you could give me an aspirin. You can glide it through the table."

To that he said nothing. She looked up when silence stretched taut between them again.

"I'm having my periods," she finally hissed when he just continued looking at her in a perplexed manner.

Christine groaned. She buried her face in her hands when the word-filter for the day started its engine. God. What was she doing? She had been accustomed to living alone, yes, but had she ever caught herself muttering out loud about her periods? No. Thankfully Destler chose to stay silent.

After Christine's cheeks cooled down she wiped her fingertips in her robe under the table and took another loaf of bread. She applied a very light layer of jam on it. She didn't feel like leaving the table until Destler was out of the way. He would have already thrown her out of the window and burned the chair she sat on had he known that she was there freely bleeding without protection. Her robe was thick, but she wouldn't take any chances. And she didn't want Destler see a bull's eye on her derriere if there was one.

Her boss left the room suddenly, having Christine's eyes observing his silent feet. Did he have felt under his shoes? No one could walk so silently without cheating somehow. The man was of a tough nut to crack.

When he disappeared out of the door, she applied three more layers of jam on the loaf and threw it down her throat and practically gulped it down as a whole. Then she took a napkin and put it between her thighs, wondering would now be the time to run to a bathroom. But he had left his paper open on the table, and his cup of coffee was still full, meaning he would come back, so she stayed where she was.

"You know, you yourself look pretty disorientated today," she said slowly when he returned soon.

"Do I?" he murmured and left a white bottle at her end of the table before taking his seat again.

"Yes."

He glanced out of the window when Christine understood what the bottle was for and took one ibuprofen.

"Do they always affect you like this?"

"What?"

"Your…. periods."

Christine paused to think if she wanted to continue the talk about her "monthly state", before replying:

"Yes. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave blood stains all over your house. They've invented these handy little things that women can stick into their vaginas to prevent such."

"I know what periods are..." His voice came muffled when he hid his face behind the morning paper again.

"Well you're proving otherwise."

"Do you have to be so vulgar," he muttered very quietly, but Christine heard him anyway. A little laugh escaped her throat.

"Vulgar? What, does the word vagina bother you? Forgive me for being a woman and having one."

"No, the word doesn't bother me. But I think it's time for you to realize that a breakfast table isn't the place to speak such... whatever comes into your mind. No doubt you are used to such language, but I'd appreciate it if you kept such to yourself here. You are going to be my wife, you know. That is the reason I'm grimacing here."

"You are unbelievable! You implied yesterday that I like to squeeze things!"

"You did squeeze that mandarin rather tightly."

"I know you meant buttocks! You implied I like to touch ass cheeks!"

"You took that remark as you wanted. What, did I hit a nerve?" he replied coolly.

"No. Because perhaps I like to touch people's behinds and am not ashamed of it?"

"You thought I was De Chagny," he then stated rather seriously.

"Perhaps. But I did tell him I am your fiancé. So you can forget about complaining about our dating because Raoul and I are not going to date. In a romantic manner." She bit her cheek before asking: "What will we discuss with the wedding planner?"

"I don't know. Never been married before."

"I see. And what is the other date about?"

Destler whisked his paper to the table. He smiled, surprisingly in a charming way. So it must be something horrible, Christine thought in fear.

"Opera. We are going to see Aida."

"What," Christine whispered.

He made an amused sound. "Have you ever been to an opera before, Christine?"

"No…"

His eyes glinted. "Thought so."

He started to explain about Aida, having Christine listening only with half an ear. The game aka life with Destler had changed its course again. How would she handle Raoul? The topic of a fake marriage had lain untouched during their talk last night. Naturally. But eventually she would have to tell the truth…Now that she had arranged a public wedding for herself.

"And as my fiancé, I hope you can come up with something else than… a topic that only women can have opinion on. Are you listening to me?"

Christine snapped back to attention. "Yes, yes. Don't worry, I try to remember to not use the v-word. Though one would have thought menstruation would fascinate you," she challenged.

He looked with an interest into her equally smug eyes. "Let me guess… are you now going to imply that I eat menstrual blood?"

Christine snickered. "No. But anatomy must interest you. Or why else is that one room filled with anatomy books, bones - ," she explained but he interrupted harshly.

"Who gave you the permission to go there?"

Christine felt a small rush of adrenaline pump into her veins and she flinched a little. _Bella had ventured in to the left swing after all._ But she was quick to answer his question.

"I…Dumbo said '_do some evaluating there too'_."

It was hard to tell if Destler believed her explanation, but he did seem to consider the possibility of dumb Dumbo doing damage again, looking lost in his thoughts, eyes glazed. No matter what his brains were working on, it would be wise to interrupt anyway.

She cleared her throat a bit, trying to regain her confidence before the evil dragon. "Though I think you're being a hypocrite. The ham on your sandwich used to have blood in it, and the white fluid in your glass came from a being that definitely had a vagina."

Destler's dark eyes came alive again. He smiled a little. "Are you a vegan then, Christine?"

"No. Unfortunately."

"And why is that? Aren't you yourself being a hypocrite?"

"You just think why." She knew he didn't understand what she meant and didn't want to him understand either. Obviously he didn't buy his own food. It was rather expensive to eat healthily.

"We're individuals. We're not the same," she couldn't help mentioning.

"Who?"

"We orphans. You make it sound like every orphan is a wild beast."

"I didn't say anything about orphans in general. But you definitely act like a feral child dragged out of a jungle. And by the way, I don't have parents either."

Destler rose again, but this time slid past Christine and opened the fridge. Christine lived in suspense for a few polite moments, then turned and was surprised to see him making dough.

"_You _like pan cakes?" she asked incredulously.

"Not that much. It's just that I've had a craving for them for a week now. But my timing has sucked lately. Haven't got the time to eat them. But my chef has a liking for them. There is nothing left when I come back from work. But today I have a free day and intend to have some."

"Oh."

The chef Delighton was for Christine yet to see. Must be a fatty, though, if Destler assumed she was most likely the person who had eaten the pan cakes.

"Do you?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Have a liking for them?"

"Not really. I eat lightly in the mornings."

"I see."

Christine watched his quiet efficiency with the cakes. She was stupefied to understand that what they were doing was an act of normalcy, something that families did. For it was her first breakfast with someone else since foster care. Emotions swallowed her at the spot, and she pressed a napkin against her eye corners. No matter how brightly the sun was shining this morning, and no matter how homely the smell of fresh coffee was, it was disheartening to realize that she was only halfway there, to a life of harmony. At the moment this Goldilocks' house was too big and the man was the opposite of things she needed.

Her physical pain wasn't relenting either. Christine clutched her stomach.

"Oh God… I am not gonna make it through the day," she whimpered and reached for the painkiller bottle, but only to grab air, for Destler had strode the distance and taken the medicine.

"Hey! Give it back! I'm in pain!"

"You can't munch these as if candy. If one doesn't help, another one won't either. Besides, the effect won't be immediate."

"It's easy for you to say. You man!" She stared in disbelief when he stalked off from the room. "What, you want to me to pay for them? I can buy them on my own, you know. I bet you haven't even been to a drug store, having your faithful slaves getting them for you. Not everyone is as lazy as you! Happy now? I didn't know we were sporting a deal in which the unsuspecting wife gets killed! And I know you can hear me. It is just ibuprofen!"

Nothing was replied.

She glanced at the kitchen counter. His pan cakes were left behind, but she didn't have the appetite anymore.

* * *

After two hours of pain induced haze Christine gave up and called Meg.

"I can't make it today. My periods are killing me. Among other things!" she said while giving a hateful glare to the upstairs.

"Don't yell."

"Sorry. I just have to make sure that THE GARGOYLE UPSTAIRS KNOWS IT'S NOT A PIG DYING DOWN HERE FOR PIGS NEITHER COWS CAN SPEAK!"

"Christine, my ear..."

"Sorry. The joke of a roommate is keeping the painkillers hostage."

"I'm sure he has a good reason."

"Any idea how stupid you sound? The package had at least 100 tablets in it."

"I can bring you some."

Christine stiffened. Yes, we all know why you want to come here, Meg.

"No thanks. I'll make it."

"You sure? I swear, I'll just pop in -"

"Cheerio," Christine ended the call. She curled into a ball on the floor at the bottom of the stairs that led upstairs and hoped for a dream where she existed as a man and where Destler oinked like the pig he was.

She sighed. She was doing it again. Giving up. Which wasn't acceptable. This was war, after all.

* * *

Christine had no idea what she was doing to Erik Destler. He was sitting stiffly in his office chair, pouring himself a fourth glass of ice cool mineral water to cool down his nerves. He didn't really register what he was doing with his hands; his mind was occupied to other things... to Christine Daly. He had hard time believing his ears, what the creature downstairs was yelling. He had never suspected her to be so... loud. And talkative. And insulting.

Funny. A gargoyle was a word that most people didn't use when they wanted to hurt someone's feelings. And most people didn't get hurt by it. What a coincidence, he thought bitterly, that one from each rare category had come together. Had he known this, he would have considered his chef as his wife more carefully. Now he just wanted to go and lock the nuisance called Christine Daly behind soundproof walls and forget he never even saw her.

He felt his blood pressure rise when the hideous sound of simple-minded pop music filled the house again. _California girls…_ Music that aimed for instant satisfaction. Like people who listened to it. No slow developments… no sensual fore-play that music could create. The song suddenly paused and weird clanking sound started. Destler frowned. Was she actually banging pots together? Soon the metallic noise ended too and low human wailing filled the air next.

"_I am going to die…. Die, die, die…. A slow, painful death. Aaaaaaaa… I am a walrus…"  
_

I could give you a slow and painful death alright, Destler thought darkly and sampled the lasso inside his jacket. He could show her something to be truly afraid of.

Destler thoroughly enjoyed the power he held over people by his mere presence. It thrilled how they cowered around him when he entered a room. He knew he intimated Christine too, but it seemed his effect on her had diminished a little. Destler was far from stupid. When people managed to act despite facing their fears, it usually meant that they had found something to fight for. Christine's skittering had lessened solely because of Raoul De Chagny.

And of course one couldn't ignore the fact that she was physically suffering. And as Destler well knew, sometimes pain made people… talk. She couldn't help it. Though Erik didn't try to fool himself into thinking that that foul mouth of hers was merely a temporary act of pain. No, it seemed to be a permanent part of her, which, if pushed, would be brought to life.

* * *

That day a loud bang reverberated through the Destler mansion at 3 p.m.

"That is it!" a man's voice bellowed.

A hoarse but mean sounding female voice answered the yell.

"Ha ha ha…. So you DID hear me!"

And then the front door opened and banged shut and two people hurried down the road. A man and a woman. The man was dragging the woman.

"I'm not your lap dog," the female said angrily. "I was trying to meditate, out loud. Letting my anger out."

"You talk too much."

"Well, with you one has to babble for two! Have you noticed?"

The man sighed and relented his hold on her. "Just follow me."

"Don't wanna. Too tired."

"No wonder. Maybe you shouldn't have screamed so much."

"I had to. As rude as it sounds, it makes me feel better. I don't have to focus on the pain. Just give me the pills and peace overnight shall be granted."

"I told you, those pills aren't candy."

"I would have never agreed to be your wife had I known that you're going to put me out to sleep like a dog. Can't you just beat me and then let me crawl under soft blankets? It's pretty cold. But that's what you're heading for..."

"_YOU INSUFFARABLE CRETIN!_What does it look like? It is 3 p.m. I am not putting you out to sleep! But there will be consequences if you do not shut your mouth right NOW!"

Silence.

"Good. Now, follow me."


	12. Chapter 12

Hello!

It has been a while again… My summer job was hectic and made me lazy/tired, but now, finally, I have more time to write! Well, perhaps not so much if I consider my studies, but at least a fraction more nevertheless!

So here is the next chap, albeit short.

BeardedTit

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

Air wheezed in and out of Christine's nose.

So.

He had walked her to his car.

And put her in it.

Without saying a word.

And now they were travelling. To a destination unknown. Her breathing was getting harder, even though her focus was 100 % on the process moving air in and out of her lungs. If she panted out loud, would Destler throw her out of the moving car?

She dared a glimpse of him. He looked comfortable. Like silence was his comfort food. Son of an alien, he must be, she thought solemnly. But… most likely it was the control he was having, the absolute control of the situation that soothed his soul.

"We're here," he said suddenly, his bright eyes turning to her. Christine became slowly aware of surroundings and turned her head around to have a look, forgetting her difficulty to breath. Wait. A city street. A café?

Christine got out of the car and sighed. Destler truly was a pathetic case. He had to yell to a person so he could get company for a cup of cappuccino? But it felt good to have a breath of fresh air. She also wouldn't mind having a soda, something to cool down the nerves Destler had set on fire.

She started walking toward "Café Mocca", but Destler interfered. "Not there…" he corrected, and took Christine by the elbow, steering her to another direction.

"What…," Christine protested, annoyed by the manhandling and turned to look where he wanted her. The door next to the cafe. She read the title of the door with raised eyebrows. She could feel him just behind her, perhaps a mere inch away. No wonder. Her fists clenched.

She turned so quickly that Destler let out a small startled noise.

"Look! What is that thing on your shoe?" she whispered. Destler frowned and looked down. Christine took off and sprinted down the street.

* * *

"Unfortunately I have to cancel our meeting. My fiancé and I have encountered some unexpected problems. No… nothing… fatal. Just a little a mishap. Yes, there will still be a wedding."

Destler sighed and made another call.

"Dumbo. I am in a park. No, not taking a romantic walk," he grunted. "She… ran here. With an intention so stay a while, I suspect. So it might take an hour or two before we return."

Above Destler, in a tree, with trembling legs, Christine listened. He thought she was coming with him... Well, she wasn't sure about that.

"Christine. I know you are here."

_Well, then. Why aren't you moving your head upwards? _

"I'm having a déjà vu. I remember being six… Our cat, a very vicious cat fought with a dog. Had a gaping wound. She wasn't the only one. I got one too while trying to drag her to a vet. So, finally, the butler had to sedate her. It is easy to be wise afterwards, but we definitely should have sedated her immediately. Sometimes… pets just don't understand their best interest."

_Yes. I am going to stay here until midnight. Then I'll go buy a gun… _

"Christine…" His voice was moving towards the silky softness he rarely used.

_That stupid, idiotic man. I should just jump down and wring his neck!_

"Fine. Let's do it the hard way."

She waited until he left her sight before deciding to land. She knew he wasn't going to let her go easily, so it would be wisest to run. Sneaking around was his bravado.

In a few minutes she was nearing the end of the park, and grimaced when finally heard shuffling behind her. At least she had tried.

He grasped the back of her jacket.

"Let go!"

He didn't. In a Nano second, Christine resorted to a physical attack. She turned around and took a dive with her teeth and gnawed his wrist.

"You little devil!" he hissed and tossed her to the ground. Christine landed with a loud "oomph", her hair covering her face. Before she could get up, Destler landed on top of her, keeping her down with his weight.

"Do you think it is chivalrous to fight with a woman?" she asked after trying to bite his wrist again. With a fast move he glued her fists to the ground by his fingers which felt like nails to Christine.

"I don't make a difference between sexes. You definitely won't be an exception."

They had a short staring contest before Christine spat: "Nobody decides these things for me!"

"Don't you think your condition is abnormal?"

"I am not going to see a gynecologist!"

"Why not?"

Christine didn't reply.

"Why not?" he asked again. His eyes narrowed. "Are you crying?" he asked. He relented his hold on her and sat next to her. She turned to her side, away from him.

"Well?" he asked again.

"Well how does it look like?"

"I don't understand."

"Wouldn't be the first time…"

"So you've seen a gynecologist before, I assume?" he tried again after a while. Christine just closed her eyes.

"We can't stay here forever. It is going to rain soon."

"I'll survive. You go home. In fact, I won't be even returning. This wife thing sucks."

"You sound like a teenager," he said with an oddly gravelly voice. Suddenly, Christine felt like blushing. As if he only just now discovered what kind of a wife he had bought, seeing his future marred with numerous embarrassments she was going to cause. Then she chided herself for being childish – why should she care what he thought? No need to pretend around him again. He knew she wasn't rich, therefore didn't know the protocol of the "fine dinings", etc. The same old, the same old.

She felt relief when he didn't say anything, maybe had already left, but when she rolled to her back 90 seconds later, he was still sitting there, watching the trees for some reason. Christine watched his profile. He seemed serene all of a sudden.

"Christine… have you ever seen a doctor?" he asked.

She laughed.

"What is so funny?" he asked, irritated.

"You are walking on a very private ground here, mister. Now, stop breathing on my neck."

She rose to her feet. Destler was quick to follow, maybe readying himself for another escapade Christine might try.

"Can we go back now?" she asked.

"To the doctor?"

"No. I want to go back home. And get ready for opera."

"Fine," he whispered.

* * *

Back in the mansion she texted a message to Raoul.

"_**No need to come and get me. I'll meet you at the opera." **_


	13. A Night at the Opera

**13 A Night at the Opera**

Christine's first opera look was down to a long pink evening gown. It was an awfully tight dress supplied by Destler's dead sister, but it was the first one she found that covered her breasts. That was her number one priority when it came to clothing these days. And yet, little did she know how useless the dress would prove to be later that evening…

Someone knocked on her door.

"Five minutes."

Christine frowned. Sounded like Dumbo. Hopefully the scoundrel wasn't coming with them. At least he had learned his lesson, for he didn't add hints about what she should wear…

Christine took a warm shawl and her purse with her and made her way outside. There was an old-fashioned carriage waiting for them. Horses and everything. For a moment she suspected Destler was mocking her – making her feel like Cinderella. Reminding her that all this luxury was temporary.

"A carriage?" she questioned when he seemed to appear out of thin air next to her. He looked impressive in his black tuxedo. Once again she wondered why he did not get a woman who felt attraction towards him as his wife. But perhaps that would complicate things. Not that _she_ was helping things.

"Yes. _Firmin_. The opera manager. Trying his best to impress me. The curses of being a contributor to the arts, I guess..."

Christine watched him climb inside their not-so-modern transport.

"You coming?" he asked.

"Yes."

Destler offered no help when she struggled her way up the carriage steps.

"This dress is a bit uncomfortable," she said aloud, not really knowing why. Perhaps she was sure he would remark something about wasting time. She doubted he had ever walked in a mermaid-shaped dress. This was her first time, too.

"We could have a bought a new dress. Hadn't you caused a scene in the park."

Christine ignored the comment and sat down opposite him. She fantasized about having Raoul with her. This night _was_ about Raoul. Despite her warm fantasies an unwelcome shudder went through her when she saw Destler's unnaturally shiny eyes looking at her. Suddenly, he seemed excited.

"Don't be nervous."

"Ha! Nervous. Whatever for."

"Just act yourself."

Christine's brow rose in doubt. He wanted her to act herself? Since when? As if he was suddenly counting on her to do something strange…

Like before, Destler was the first one to move when they arrived to the opera house. He hopped off the carriage, not even looking back, assuming Christine would follow him like some house pet. Maybe she should give him a pet. Something as attractive as him. A tarantula, perhaps, she pondered and half-walked, half-jogged, after him.

She gulped when they entered the opera house. The place was packed. And to her disappointment, Destler's arrival was noticed.

"Destler!" someone shouted over the general commotion.

Christine shuddered. The Piangi man. She took an instinctive step back but Destler was quick to catch her.

"We are in this together," he whispered. Christine grunted her agreement reluctantly and stayed.

"Ubaldo," Destler said dryly when the obnoxious man stopped in front of them.

"I see you brought your fiancé with you," Piangi instantly commented and let his eyes take a toll on Christine.

Christine's hand wrapped itself around Destler. She nodded Piangi a silent greeting. Destler gave her a subtle side-glance.

"Well… I just wanted to congratulate you on your latest success on Broadway," Piangi said.

Christine grimaced mentally. This Destler success really started to bother her. Not only was he born into a rich family, he also was talented, which just added to his wealth.

"Thank you."

Piangi looked at Destler expectantly, waiting for him to say something else. When Destler didn't reply, his attention shifted back to Christine.

"I'd love to give you a tour."

Christine's heart-rate accelerated. Why would he assume this was her first time here? Did she look that helpless?

"That is not necessary. As if I've never been here before…," she managed.

"Around my house, I meant."

"I'm sure that will be fine if Erik and I find time."

"Now why should you come with him? It is the 21th century. Women go to places on their own. You see, my house is not just a house."

Destler wrapped his hand around Christine's waist.

"It is more like a hotel. A seedy bar. With drunken, sexually twisted occupants."

Piangi was flabbergasted. "I… uh… how dare you?"

"How dare _you_ bait my fiancé in front of me?" said hard steel, aka Destler's voice. Christine felt his hold on her tighten.

"I was being friendly!"

"You keep your hands and chlamydia-infected penis away from Christine."

"Outrageous! This is… I… I will never sing in your operas again!"

Destler laughed his mirthless laugh. "I thank you for that. It is not like I enjoyed you presence before. Your contract is done. "

They watched Piangi struggle with his breathing again. Then his face changed. The nervousness disappeared, as if a blurry door would have been opened and the view to his inner self was now open. It was an ugly sight.

"You will regret this," he said.

"Why would I?"

"I know your secret."

"What is it?" Destler asked in a way that seemed curious, but Christine saw his eyes give away a recognition of a true threat.

"I know enough to wonder what is your fiancé doing with you."

"It is not our fault you have never encountered love," Christine decided to meddle. Destler wasn't a people's person, but he didn't grope. Sexually assaulting people needed to be put into their place.

"Sweet words, puppet. I have a feeling you like to please. Tell me, do you like to moan on top? Or do you take it like a bitch on heat, from behind? I bet I could draw some lovely noises from you if I whipped your ass."

She felt sick. Never ever would she try her kitchen psychology again on people like Piangi. The man was just… sick.

"You want to get your dick sliced off right now, here?" Destler asked nonchalantly.

Christine looked down and put her purse to her mouth when she noticed something glinting in Destler's hand. Piangi noticed it too.

Were they actually having this conversation? She looked around. Despite the heated words, the argument didn't draw attention - the buzz in the lobby was that loud. Once again, she had that feeling that she was too… inexperienced. Not that it was normal to have a conversation about cutting off penises, but she felt like she had no tools for this… situation. Even though she had lived in a house full of most peculiar people. But they were peculiar and strange in an honest manner. This… this thing here… this Piangi… tried to hide his… vileness. To think_ he_ had to have lots of money. Perhaps more money Christine would ever earn…

"If you know my secret, you also know I don't oppose you dying from blood loss."

"This isn't over," Piangi breathed.

"I know it isn't. And it won't be… until you die."

Piangi took a step back. And then disappeared into the crowd.

"I'm sorry," Destler whispered in a desolate voice and gave Christine's waist a comforting squeeze.

"It is okay", Christine offered helplessly.

There was a thoughtful pause. "Hey. It is not like I would have said yes to his luring! He'd have to tie me down."

He smiled. "I think that is exactly what he would do."

"True. And I suppose that is entertainment for you?"

"No. I just realized that we are arguing like a married couple."

"I hope there are happy marriages too. No one wants to be continuously jealous."

"You jealous of me?"

It was surreal when Destler got playful. Christine smiled awkwardly, not really knowing what was the best way to respond.

"You wish. Well… I'll just go powder my nose before the show begins," she said. Destler's response was a thoughtful look.

"I can pee on my own, right?"

"Fine. I hope you can count to five. That is the number of our box."

* * *

Christine parked herself in the front of the opera's ladies bathroom mirror and gave herself a stern look.

"My life. My decisions. I don't have to do things exactly like Destler wants..."

Suddenly, a horrible laugh resonated throughout the bathroom. A toilet stall opened and a tall, red haired woman appeared.

"Giving yourself a pep talk?"

Fantastico! _Carlotta Giudicelli._

"Uh… yes."

"A lovers spat, I assume?"

"Sorta."

"Sorta. Hm. But '_Destler'_? Sounds a bit cold."

Christine bit her cheek. What to say to that?

Carlotta smiled even more widely. If Eve had been something like Carlotta, no wonder things got screwed up.

"I knew it!" Carlotta gasped. "I wonder what the secret between you two is. How a female like you could have ever caught Destler's eye. I bet you are blackmailing him."

So Carlotta wanted Destler. Christine had suspected that. Now it was out in the open. Christine wished she could tell Carlotta to feel free to throw herself into his arms…

"Oh my. Really? Tell me, what is my secret?" she asked tiredly.

"I don't know. But I am going to find out. Perhaps you were one of his trysts… And got yourself pregnant."

Christine was sure that Destler would have killed a woman who tried to blackmail him by getting pregnant. And yet, she doubted that despite his obvious sex addiction, he wouldn't forget protection.

But. Should Christine even pay attention to what Carlotta said? The woman didn't make sense. If she was telling the truth, what made her so sure that Destler would leave the other women for her? Why weren't they together now? Strange. A woman, who knew the rules of snobbism and was cold as the ice berg that hit Titanic. With Destler, a perfect match. And yet, not together.

"I will find out. And when I do, I will make sure that there is no hole that will make it possible for a rat like you to come between me and Destler again."

_Rat this, rat that. Surely there were other species out there to describe the unfortunate and poor._

Carlotta opened her purse and put on some red lipstick. Christine wanted to remark that with that much lipstick it was hard to tell difference between Carlotta's lips and a baboon's bottom.

After checking her make-up, Carlotta gave Christine a false smile.

"And honey… your butt is showing."

Then Carlotta let out the horrible, "nails down the blackboard" -laugh again and left. In her wide deep red dress she was like an evil queen from Hell.

Christine watched her go and frowned. Of course her butt was showing. She was wearing a tight dress.

She twisted herself so that could see her derriere in the mirror. Oh. _Panty lines._

For ten seconds Christine hesitated if the situation required tears, then she calmed herself. Why she should care if people saw that she wore underwear?

And yet, she shimmied out of her panties and tucked them into her purse. Then she took her phone and called Raoul.

"Raoul? Where are you?"

"In the lobby."

Despite the fact that the day had been one of her worsts, Christine felt joy when she saw Raoul, handsome as ever in his sleek tuxedo. Before she could greet, Raoul captured her head between his hands and plugged her airway with his mouth. Christine brain didn't really register that the action was called kissing, so surprised she was. When they finally parted, she was dazed and collapsing towards the marble floor, but Raoul caught her in time. When he had righted her, she let out a shuddering breath that echoed rather loudly in the lobby. Then it hit her – _kissing!_

"Are you okay?" he asked, giving her a confused smile.

"Yes. "

_No. YOU KISSED ME. That is not friendly. That is… You…_

"Christine," he then sighed and hugged her as if had gotten some difficult task finally done. "We should go. The opera is about to start."

"I… yes. Let's go," Christine agreed, smiling widely.

"You know, no one has ever me fainted on me during a kiss."

Christine's smile died a little. _Yes, there must have been a plenty of kisses for him to have…. _

"Our box is the 55th…"

And so they went and took their seats. Christine didn't particularly pay attention to their surroundings, not when she was having Raoul beside her. Not when Raoul had just kissed _her._ The curtains were still closed. For a brief moment she worried about Destler, but surely he had some stereotype about women and bathrooms in his mind.

"Christine. I am so glad you came… For a number of reasons. There is something urgent you need to know. It is about Destler. I am currently working on an article about international gun laws… I happened to collide with classified information."

"Destler involved?" Christine choked.

"He is not what he seems."

She groaned. "Oh Raoul. Somehow that piece of information fits him perfectly…"

"Christine…," he said hurriedly. "Today, you shouldn't return to his house. Return to your own apartment."

"Raoul… I can't go back to my old apartment."

"It has only been a week."

No way she was going to reveal where she used to live and what had happened.

"I… uh. Look. Can we talk later? This night should be about… opera and…," would she dare to say it, "and us."

Raoul smiled. "Fine."

Christine noticed the theater binoculars on their box's little table and took a look around the place with them. Just as she had expected. People with faces so sour she had to wonder why had they even bothered to come instead of drowning their faces into a bowl of citrus….

Then she met eyes so hypnotizing that she forgot the breath. Angry eyes. _Destler!_ He was staring right at her, his chin resting on his fist.

"Shit!" she hissed.

"What?"

"Fuck!"

"You did pass English, right, Christine? What are you seeing? Give me a descriptive noun."

"I think… I... We should leave!" she sounded slightly hysterical.

"What for?"

"Raoul…We can't really have a talk here, can we? All those fat ladies singing… And some people are staring…"

She cringed. She was not being paranoid, but perhaps to Raoul that is exactly how it sounded. To her horror, he _did _laugh.

"Of course they are staring. They are wondering who is the luminous creature next to me."

Christine just stared at him.

"Come on. Don't tell me you didn't look in the mirror before you came."

"Of course I did," she snapped. Carlotta and her comment about her butt came into her mind. Was there something else she hadn't noticed?

"Then what's with the unbelieving look?"

"I…"

"Amazing. You really have no idea."

"What?"

"The way you are acting…" Raoul came closer. Christine felt a rush of panic. It was very Destler-like to ogle in the manner Raoul was now staring at her. Maybe her lipstick had gone to wrong places after the kiss?

"Christine… This is actually heartbreaking."

Now she recognized the look in Raoul's eyes. Oh boy did she know that look. _Pity!_ The most important person in her life pitied her!

"Are you mocking me?" she rose abruptly.

"Hey, where are you going?" Raoul asked, bewildered. "That is not a way to take a compliment. "

Like lava out of an erupting volcano, water burst out of her eyes.

"Jesus, Christine."

He stood quickly and took her in an embrace.

"This is really heartbreaking," he whispered in her ear. "You have no idea how lovely you are… Your response to a compliment reminds me of a person who…." He stalled. "Christine… in what kind of home did you live? I never got to know your family."

"I don't want to talk right now. Can we just… focus on the opera?"

"Okay. But after it we are going to talk. And we are going to talk good."

They sat again, Raoul having Christine's left hand tightly in his right hand. Lights dimmed, and the stage came alive. But Christine had forgotten something essential…

"Evening."

Her face froze.

"Erik," she whispered and turned to see the tall man behind them.


	14. 14 Something's burning FIRE!

**14 Something's burning… FIRE!**

"Mr. Destler," Raoul acknowledged. Christine noticed how Destler's gaze came down on Raoul's thigh where her hand rested.

"What a coincidence that you are here too, De Chagny," he then mused. "I think I should kill you."

Christine's face paled. She snatched her hand away from Raoul.

"Just kidding."

"Ha ha," Raoul and Christine replied simultaneously.

"But I seriously want my wife back," Destler said, and offered his hand to Christine. Raoul looked confused.

"Back? Ha ha! You… you joker. Um…. Sure. I'll come see you. In a sec," Christine blabbered. Why it was always like this with Raoul and Lester in the same space?

"Now," Destler said shortly.

Raoul rose to his feet.

"Look, I've interviewed many artists, and you come off as eccentric as they are, but it does not give you the right to order people around like they are your slaves."

Christine admired how reasonable Raoul sounded, but Destler looked at him unaffected, though a slight smile curved his lips. She knew that look. He was eyeing Raoul up before deciding how to get him out of his way. Perhaps he would throw Raoul over the opera boxes' railing after destroying Christine's and Raoul's chance to have children. Not that she was any good with dead Raoul, because then his penis would be useless anyway when it came to reproducing….Hm. _Did she even want children?_

Christine rose too, readying herself for a senseless jump attack against Destler, but then she felt a sudden air shift near her face.

"A funny thing just happened. As if a bullet grazed me," she mumbled, confused.

"It did," Destler said.

"Christine… your cheek is bleeding," Raoul whispered and moved towards her, but Destler was quicker and threw her to the ground.

A chaos erupted throughout the opera. Shouting, screaming, crying. Christine had always thought to be the first one to act if something catastrophic happened – but instead of some serious Xena-action, she lay on the box floor like a frozen turkey until Destler yelled her to start crawling.

And crawl they did. Christine ditched her heels, but losing the shoes helped a little. It was the tight dress that made it hard to move quickly. Destler noticed too. Amazingly, in a time of panic and fear for life, Christine had time for virtuousness, for when she felt Destler's hand on her hips, she remembered her panties that she wasn't wearing.

"Hey! No!"

"We will get killed if you continue moving like a snail."

"I don't have anything under the dress!"

And then he ripped the garment with his knife. She let out a mortified shriek that quickly turned into a low growl when the dress fell apart around her.

"Oh my god! Oh my butt! Oh god! Raoul!" she shouted like a damn damsel in distress. She fucking hated it when she had to ask for someone's help. Raoul, who was third in their crawling line, looked over Destler.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked and grabbed Destler by the shoulders. Christine tried to stand, but Destler snatched her back down by her wrists, causing her to fall down on her nose. Her dress slide down her back, revealing more skin.

Great. The position of a saluting butt. Christine wanted to die. Considering that someone had just shot at her, hoping for such relief wasn't far-fetched.

"Let her go," Raoul demanded. Destler turned to give him a hesitating look before sucker-punched Raoul in the gut. Hard. Raoul literally went down.

Horrified, Christine screamed again.

"WHAT! No! Don't! Stop that!"

Raoul was surprisingly quick to cover from the blow and in turn hit Destler, in the nose. Christine tried to come between them, but when she felt air caressing her bare vulva, she changed her direction toward a pillar. She started to cough. Smoke? She peeked over the boxes' railing. The stage was on fire! And it seemed that the three of them were the last ones around.

Where was the shooter? What the hell was going on!

"Oh god, oh god," she whispered frantically. She looked at the fighting men. When Destler was on top of Raoul, she crawled back, took Destler's knife and sliced his tuxedo enough to have fabric for a hip clothing, as if she was Tarzan. She wrapped it around her waist, sighing in relief. The men didn't even notice.

"Hey, stop that already!" she said angrily. "Stop it! Raoul don't hurt him – "

But then it was Destler who was on top, choking Raoul with some robe-looking thing. Christine couldn't see clearly. The smoke was already spreading around the building.

"Stop it!" she screamed.

"You should come with me," an unfamiliar male voice said behind her. Christine turned. A man in black, wearing a white mask. With a pointing gun.

"And who are you?" she asked, coughing.

"A man with a pointing gun."

"You must have made a mistake. I am a mere tourist here. If it is money you are after…"

"No. I am after you."

"What. My name is Ursula Binder. I am from Germany. And I believing that I no know you."

"Christine… you shouldn't lie."

"I am being serious here! Really. Well. I don't have money. For crying out loud, I am wearing a hula made from tux. Do I look rich to you? There won't be any ransom to have -"

The man hoisted Christine up.

"Raoul!" she shrieked. Finally, Destler and Raoul took notice. Destler's eyes were dilated black. Despite the now mangled tux, he still managed to look threatening, feral even. Christine wondered if he even was from earth.

"We meet again, O.G.," the masked man snickered, while holding the squirming Christine still. She managed nothing but dropping "the hula". Automatically, each male eye pair looked down.

"Don't stare!" she snapped. Destler was first to recover.

"Let her go," he ordered. As scary as his voice was, it was a rather useless order.

The masked man with a pointing gun laughed. "No can do… Besides… have you seen The Dark Knight? A very poor choice of words!"

"Come up with some own material!" Christine mumbled in panic when the kidnapper moved her towards the railing.

_"Don't! I love her!" _

Surprised, all three of them looked at Raoul who in turn was staring Christine, panting for breath. Fear in his eyes. He looked so young all of a sudden, the seriousness of a journalist all gone. She had never seen him scared. He looked like a little boy. Christine suspected she looked like an embryo then. They really didn't belong to this nightmare around them…

As if melting in front of the expressed love, the masked man said in a softer, even voice: "You know what I want, O."

Destler was still looking at Raoul. Christine cried mentally. _Raoul didn't express his love to you! Do something, Destler! _She didn't want to die anymore._ Raoul loved her!_

"You heard him!" Raoul said in anguish. "Whatever he wants… give it to him."

And then… someone was shooting again.

"Who the hell…," the masked man yelped, crouching down, taking Christine with him.

"I thought it was you who was doing the whole shooting thing," Christine whimpered.

"No. I am on my own mission here."

"You think you run well with me in your arms? Leave me now, when you are still alive. Your arms are sweaty, I can feel. You are just as afraid as I am. Leave. Now."

"I can't. You are my key."

"What key…?"

And then Destler was there, interrupting, shoving Christine away.

"Take him with you!" Destler shouted to her, nodding towards Raoul, while punching the life out of the masked man. He was animalistic, as if with Raoul he had held something back. With Raoul, it had been hay rolling between lovers.

Destler's hands moved in a way that told fighting wasn't unfamiliar to him. He knew what he was doing. Like he was trained to do realised, he could _kill with bare hands_. Christine watched the display of brutal testosterone with both fascination and disgust. It was a battle between an ant and a rhino, even though both were the same size. She felt bad for the masked man, but then again, he had threatened to throw her to her death.

"Go and stay down until you get to the corridors!" Destler ordered again.

She obeyed this time. "Come," she managed and took Raoul's hand. They ran.

Unfortunately at some point she lost her way. And also her consciousness.

* * *

Three hours later Christine came to her senses in the Destler mansion. She was under a warm blanket, still in her pink dress. There was a huge bandage on her cheek, but amazingly nothing hurt. A pair of men's pajamas was placed next to the bed. The usual Destler treatment. As if it would have been so hard to go into her room and look through her… oh. Yes. Better this way.

She hurriedly put the overly big garment on and rushed her way to Destler's dark office.

He looked cool and comfortable whereas she was the epitome of a mess when she slammed his door open. He was drinking something red, looking mysterious as ever behind his massive table, his odd eyes half-way closed. A burning candle on his table casted a magical glow around him. Was he drunk? Christine wondered. In his other hand he held the drink, in the other was a… small monkey statue? Christine looked at it curiously. Maybe he had a monkey collection somewhere?

"I see you have recovered," he stated calmly, and suddenly his eyes popped open, his typical wolfish, as-if-he-knew-something-that-she-didn't –smile on his lips and turned in his seat this to look at her.

_Don't let his peculiar voice, no, his peculiar everything, distract you. Focus, Christine. "_I want a divorce!" she demanded.

"Maybe we should try some counseling first. What, you think it was me who caused the fall of the opera?"

"Well?"

"We are not getting divorced."

Christine had expected as much. She placed her hands on her hips in a demanding manner, doing her best with the drooping sleeves.

"Well, I did read the fine print of our contract. I can pull out of it."

"True. But you don't want to do that. I think I should let you know that I have power..."

"Yes. Over gays at the Broadway. And the idle idiots of upper class."

"Well. But I am not a mere composer."

For a change, it seemed that Destler was about to tell something revealing. The air around them felt ominous to Christine. She remembered what Raoul had told her. To tell the truth, she didn't really believe anymore that Destler would actually hurt her, but the business he was involved in obviously would.

"Stop right there. I don't want to hear it. I want to… leave when it is still possible."

"It is already too late… for your own safety, you have to stay. From now on, Dumbo will take you to the Lovers' rehearsals."

Christine's face paled to nothingness. "I want to call Raoul. Where is my purse?"

"There is no way out of this. I already told you."

"Is this about… the thing Raoul said?"

He set his drink and the statue down on the table. "The thing? You mean his _confession of love_? No, this is not about it."

"Oh."

"You know… If I were you, I'd carefully consider that _love_." His tone was challenging.

"Well… Lucky for you, Raoul is not into men."

He ignored her. "Yes, it was very dramatic, like in some epic love story, when he declared his affection to you… But not only five minutes later, he comes running out of the building, turns around and says: 'I thought she was behind me'."

He chuckled.

Christine felt anger coursing through her. "You are a cruel man."

That seemed to stop his happy mischief. He sobered, and focused his eyes back on Christine. Looking a bit like a child whose candy someone stole.

Creep.

"Well. It was not his fault that I got lost," she continued bravely.

She watched warily when he rose, took the statue and the candle with him, and walked across the room, pass her. She heard him do something that she guessed was putting the statue on the self.

"Had it been my love, she would have walked out of there beside me. Or in my arms. But never behind me," he said coolly. She could feel his eyes on her back, but she wasn't going to turn around. She wouldn't let him circle her like some predator.

"Well. As you said, things don't always go like in movies. It was an emergency! No one thought straight. And just because he is a man and I am a woman I shouldn't wait him for the rescue. And you said 'take Raoul with you'. Well, luckily the fire fighters found me in time."

"Not them. It was me. I carried you out."

Christine's heart jumped. He had moved right next to her, looking down at her, the candle's light competing against his eyes' strange aura.

"Well. Then I thank you for my life."

He nodded absent-mindedly.

Christine pondered if it was wise to push it, but asked anyway. "Why aren't you angry? Raoul still doesn't know about our marriage."

He sighed. "I knew you weren't going to tell him... Doesn't really matter now."

That was unexpected. "What? Where is Raoul? Did… did you do something to him? Why did you start to beat him? There was no need! You ripped my -"

"He was slowing us down. We had no time for useless heroism... So I decided to try to render him to unconsciousness. I could have easily carried him out. He doesn't seem to weigh much... And he is fine. He is coming to see you tomorrow."

"Maybe I should go to see him…"

"_No._ You stay here."

Christine took a step away from him. It felt suffocating when he was just an inch away from her.

"But I want to leave! I can go to… Finland. They will not find me. I mean, what is this all about anyway? This is absurd! They? About who are we talking about? Who wants to kill you? And who was that masked man? I think it would be better for me to leave now. Will this situation ever be over? When our year is over, what makes you sure that they won't come after me?"

"That is not important." He was looking at the floor, the space between them. Christine wondered if she had somehow insulted him by moving away.

"It is! Should I be aware of old grannies? Or just masked men?"

"Unless you want to die, you stay. That is final," he stated chilly and returned to his chair.

Defeated, Christine sighed and turned around. She was so tired it was useless to try thinking nothing but finding a bed and sleep until she had enough mental power to figure out how she was going to cross this troubled water she was facing.

"Christine. You should know something."

She stopped, her back to him.

"I… I understood you today in the park. It seems we have a lot in common. I fear I have become something I once hated. Or perhaps… perhaps it is just you. You make me question myself. "

A pause. Then, "I don't particularly like that feeling."


End file.
